


Hellhounds Run in Packs

by Cuzosu



Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1227238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuzosu/pseuds/Cuzosu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally inspired by Tieleen's story Game Plan.</p><p>It's the full moon and the Winchester brothers are hunting with the Leverage team. Somehow, Murphy never can keep his nose out of things. Especially when company comes calling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shoot First and Answer to Dean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tieleen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tieleen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Game Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/378235) by [Tieleen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tieleen/pseuds/Tieleen). 



> I have a very twisted mind. I have given the team powers, too, and by the end, none of the team and neither of the Winchester brothers will be a normal human. But they're not all the same things, and I'm delving into myths and legends and playing mix-and-match just a little bit.
> 
> Oh. And, in case you didn't realize from the tags? This will eventually be a threesome. M/M/M. I may mention het couples or groups, but I won't go explicit there.
> 
> The downside of writing this? My muses have been known to drag me around by the ear. And Dean is grumpy because he hasn't gotten laid yet. (For those of you who don't know this about me yet: I can't keep anything in a warm-and-fuzzy mood for long. So there's lots of angst and violence and bloodshed.)
> 
> I do not own Leverage or Supernatural or any of the various myths and legends I may or may not have twisted for my own use.... I am not making money from this, though hopefully I will make fans of some of the readers. *laughs* To be perfectly serious, though, I disclaim everything except the random OCs that are there for story purposes. "In like a penny, out like a pizza" is a quote that, if I remember right, came from one of the many CSI shows. CSI:NY, I think. Could be wrong.
> 
> Anyway. I apologize beforehand for all the perverted and mean humor in the second chapter, which will be up in a few days or so.

Dean couldn't help grinning to himself; his werewolf lover was _hot._ Okay, so, yeah, it wasn't the smartest thing to be wandering through town with a werewolf and his brother was probably furious that he'd done this despite Sammy's urging otherwise, but—hell, he was only human, too, and Eliot Spencer was irre-fucking-sistible.

There was a canine yawn and then the furry form of his lover dropped down from the balcony. He looked a lot like a timber wolf, all multi-colored and huge, but those blue-gray eyes held a piercing intelligence.

Even as a wolf, Eliot was smart and dangerous, though he wasn't nearly so dangerous as most werewolves; Eliot had a human pack, he had a mate, he had people who would get in his way and make sure he didn't follow through on urges to go kill people. He was the pack's protector, the one who stood between them and danger, and that very fact was what kept him from changing them into werewolves. They were safe from hunters as long as he was the only werewolf in the group; he had reasons to _not_ bite or kill humans.

Sam wasn't sure he believed it. Dean knew it was true. And if Eliot had more control over his wolf side than any werewolf they'd ever so much as heard of, well, something about his blonde friend, Parker, hinted at some very good reasons.

The wolf rose from the crouch he'd landed in, snuffling busily about. They were in a ghost town, Dean and Eliot and Eliot's team, with Sam and Hardison watching the road into town to make sure nothing got through. Well, it was a ghost town until the populace deemed it safe to return, since the ghastly manifestations had driven them from their homes in the first place.

Dean followed the wolf as it stalked a scent intently; he had, after all, asked Eliot to find the cause of the manifestations. Whatever scent wolf-Eliot had found, it led them straight to the most active ghosts. It wasn't a cemetery. That surprised Dean. Instead, it was at a mall.

Beside them, the blonde chick ran her fingers through the werewolf's ruff and then tapped him on the nose playfully. He snorted and gave her a glare. She must have been used to it, because it didn't deter her in the slightest.

"Let's have Alec take care of the cameras," she said to Dean.

Used to relying on Cas and Sam where computers and cameras were involved, the older Winchester brother shrugged. "Okay." He didn't say, _If he fucks this up, I will shoot him._

As if to reassure his lover, the werewolf brushed a furry shoulder against Dean as he circled about his human pack. Unlike Dean, Eliot knew Parker had her ear bud in.

_"Alright, I wiped all the cameras currently on and all systems I can tap are currently not recording. Go for it."_

The brunette woman emerged from the van, carrying salt and minor supplies as Eliot's pack leader shouldered the backpack of tools Dean had prepared just in case.

Dean knew Eliot was ex-military of some sort, probably a spook or black ops or special forces. So he thought Eliot had probably been bitten and turned, but if that was so...then how did he have such control over the wolf within him?

Green eyes assessed the wall of the roof they came to, thankful that the blonde had picked all the locks they'd come across, equally happy she'd gone elsewhere to deal with further security systems. "So," Dean said finally. "Is your werewolf strength up to digging through this or do I have to go back to the vehicles and find a hammer or something?"

Wolf-Eliot huffed at him before shouldering him out of the way; Dean fell on his ass with a startled complaint, but rose again to watch—and avoid rather large chunks of brick and other hard materials those strong paws moved with canine haste.

Whoever had dumped this body had some bad stuff coming to them, either via vengeful ghosts—if it hadn't already happened—or a little traumatizing, courtesy of a certain green-eyed man and his werewolf lover. Dean didn't like it when people stuffed other people into walls, dead or not. And, judging from werewolf body language, neither did Eliot.

Paws shattered the last of the heavy brick and concrete filler between them and the body. Eliot backed away with a disgruntled growl and a huffed bark. The blonde chick came back from wherever she'd been and seemed to think werewolf anger was cute—or, at least, that _this_ werewolf's anger was cute—because she grinned and patted him on the head. Seconds later, she could smell the stench of decomposition, a rotting body, and dove dramatically for the werewolf so she could bury her nose in his ruff.

Nate was an absolute mess of a man, standing behind his werewolf teammate. He was a pattern-reader, a man whose blue eyes saw clearly—or he had been, until his son died. Something about Sam Ford's death had warped his abilities. Now he alternated between being exceedingly sensitive to death and darkness and blood...and not being able to feel it at all. Liquor stopped or twisted his pattern readings, but it didn't do much to his new talent. If Nate had been sober and willing to think about it, he'd have realized that these extra things he was sensing, they matched patterns with some of the things Sam had seen and felt in the hospital, spoke of so quietly, more and more depressed and perpetually surrounded by death and disease and blood.

_They say, "Like Father, like Son,"_

_But that is not the full truth._

_For is not the Father like unto the Son?_

A cold nose brought Nate's thoughts back into his own head and then warm fur brushed his fingers temptingly. He knew what Eliot was doing; he was offering comfort, silent companionship. Nate could almost forget they were on the roof with the body of a murdered mother-to-be.

No, he couldn't. It was hard to mistake the stench of death, even without a werewolf's nose.

Parker bounded up behind them, mouth open to demand an update, and stopped. Wild wolf eyes met hers, then one pointed ear flicked toward the short-haired Winchester. Sam was still in the van with Alec, trading tips between hackers. She went from bouncy to serious in a second, nodded at Eliot and moved up to help Sophie and Dean. Nate was...wrong. He wasn't acting like Nate, he was acting hurt and possessed or something, but not Nate. Eliot had seen it, though, and Eliot was a werewolf, so he could take care of Nate and the rest of them better than most.

"Leave Nate to Eliot," she said as she joined Dean with the body. She wrinkled her nose at the odor, but stayed. _We do what the others can't._

Dean blinked at the blonde's words, then looked back at Ford and his lover. The wolf was pushing the dark-haired man to the ground. It was a touching sight, because Eliot didn't get close to just anyone. Not to the point of taking care of them emotionally. And yet, here he was, in wolf form and sprawled atop his boss, cold nose and warm fur and piercing gaze all working together to keep Nathan Ford focused in the present.

The man didn't know how to do the warm fuzzy things anymore; his son's death took all of that and left him with the cold of the grave, with an affinity for the dead. It was an affinity he often found himself lost in if his new family wasn't there. Maggie hadn't realized, had thought he was delusional with grief; she might lose it if she ever found out for real.

If he was honest, instead of jealous, Dean could admit that life had dealt the older man a real shitty hand. The brunette lady, Sophie, she lusted after Ford and she liked his mind when he was sober—but Eliot had proven time and time again that he was the only one capable of taking care of their leader when he went on his nastier, darker emotional paths.

It could have been awkward, almost was, but at the same time, watching his wolf-shaped lover being manhandled and tripped and stumbled over by a drunken genius mastermind who'd been fucked over seven ways to Sunday in the psychic department...it was kind of hot. Because Dean would have to be blind not to see the appeal of Nathan Ford clinging to a very furry retrieval specialist like he's a teddy bear, and so what if Eliot was a wolf? Dean knew his protective instincts were driving the werewolf ballistic in his need to care for the other man, and that's one of the traits he's always really loved about Spencer, and anyway, Nate's a bastard but Dean respected that just as much as the rest of him. 'cause honestly, Dean's pretty sure he couldn't do what Nate does half so well, drunk or sober. And Sammy would never hear this from Dean, but at least Nathan's asshole tendencies were milder than his brother's when Ford wasn't actively trying to pick a fight.

Dean turned back to the body and his own work, suddenly busy with salt and determinedly not looking at the furry companionship which was bound to start something physical once they're done and gone and _safe._ And, okay, maybe once the moon's down and Eliot has reverted back to human. His eyes slipped back to Ford and fur and Dean thought, _Or maybe not._ Then, with mixed hurt and malice, _At least Sammy can't accuse me of chasing tail because it really has a tail this time. Thought El was going to bite him for that._ Eliot hadn't, thankfully, but that may have been because Dean had buried a shaking hand in the fur of his ruff and pressed the werewolf subtly closer to him on the bed. It had not been a pleasant confrontation; Dean was hoping to avoid a repeat performance. Sam probably wouldn't let him get that wish.

Shaking negative thoughts away, Dean refocused and finished the salt and burn with Parker while Sam and Alec did their geek thing in the safety of that van even Sam had admitted had an undeniable odor to it.

It would have been a perfect, easy-as-pie night—Dean loved that phrase and he loved those days and he loved pie almost as much as he loved that Eliot cared enough to cook pies _just for him_ —except, of course, that somehow everything suddenly went wrong. Because Murphy, like the law, was an ass and inconveniently just where no one wanted him to be. And suddenly everything that could go wrong damned well was.

There were other hunters, shouted words, and confusion. One of the strangers saw wolf-Eliot and stiffened in alarm, which brought his teammates' attention to the werewolf as well, because _of course_ not one damn thing could really go right when Dean had plans for people he cared about. He'd wanted to bring Nate in on things, damn it, _that was all,_ and these assholes were gearing up to act even worse than Sam had!

Wait. Where the hell _was_ Sam? And Alec? Why hadn't they alerted anyone to the other hunters? Green eyes flicked to meet his lover's gaze. The unspoken question was, _Didn't you sense anyone?_

Pointed ears flicked sideways, a gesture somewhere between resigned and irritated.

Nathan flinched at something no one else could see, the specter of death hanging ominously close to everyone present. He whimpered in fear and loss, so deep in his own head that he couldn't tell if anyone was still alive. Eliot moved automatically to comfort his leader, to bring the man back out of his mind. A cold nose pushed lightly against Nate's neck, warm breath blew quite a contrast on just-chilled skin. It brought him back, alright. And it pushed the strange hunters over the edge of paranoia into action.

One man tensed further yet, called out, "No!"

The second swore and circled quickly, trying to find a better vantage point to get at the werewolf.

A short firecracker of a woman, the third hunter bared her teeth and snarled, "Damn murderous mutt!"

Dean was halfway between pissed that he was totally overlooked as a threat and offended on behalf of his lover when the shot rang out. He whirled to see blood spattered across Ford's shirt, hear the snarl of pain and reflexive rage from Eliot, witness that terrifying moment in which the wolf stumbled as he tried to rise and protect his pack. It's all the worse because he still didn't know what happened to Sam and Alec, and he might be about to lose everything he held dear in one fell swoop.

"If you have _ever_ held _any_ respect for the Winchester name, _stop right fucking now!”_ Once the words were out, Dean realized he was baring his teeth in a gesture more typical of Eliot's wolf form than either man.

"Winchester?" The strangers startled, the first man putting his weapons away. The second man lowered his own gun, but remained watchful. That was okay; Dean could live with that, though he might be sorely tempted to beat the man to a pulp later. It was the woman who was a problem. She didn't disarm or even lower her weapons—and she kept advancing.

"Woman, back down! You're going to push him into lashing out—and, trust me on this, _that_ werewolf is the _last_ one you should think about picking fights with." _Because, quite aside from having four people as unofficial family, he's also got me and Sam. And he's a better fighter than most people will ever be, as a human or as a wolf. He only got shot because he was trying to help Nate._ Speaking of which.... Dean turned slightly to frown at Ford, who, to the shock of the other hunters, was talking Parker through checking the wound and the various stages of field dressing he'd learned from having to work on Eliot's human self. It was amazing, but Dean was proud of Nate for holding himself together.

The first man frowned, parsing Dean's words for underlying meanings. "Picking fights? He's a werewolf and he just went for a human's throat, Winchester!"

Dean gestured furiously at the obviously uninjured Nathan Ford. "If he was so serious about killing Ford, then why the hell is the man still completely whole?! For that matter, if you're right, then how the hell is a psychic who gets overwhelmed by death functioning so damned well as to _direct his Fae comrade_ while she digs the silver out of her _injured werewolf_ adopted fucking _brother_?!"

A voice broke in—a welcome one, with words that Dean appreciated even if the other hunters didn't. "Are you done enraging my brother and trying to pick a fight that will end with you dead yet? Because, let me tell you this so you can't misunderstand: that werewolf you just shot? His name is Eliot Spencer. The people you've interrupted, used as target practice and fucking assaulted? Discounting us Winchesters, you're getting off to a real bad start in acquainting yourselves with the nastiest team of con men, thieves and bad guys in existence. You just shot the werewolf who sees them as his pack, whom they look at as either a very good friend or as a sibling. And—let me be even more clear on this—you just _shot_ that selfsame werewolf who despises guns and the people who use them, because he's only ever killed anyone in human form, mostly with guns, and he knows what he's talking about." Yeah, Sam had heard horror stories. He'd never believed them until he'd heard Eliot earlier, before his change. _Damn, I feel sorry for the lady; in like a penny, out like a pizza._ The retrieval specialist had then gone on to identify the murder weapon by looking at the ghost's ghastly wounds. "As if that was not enough, you drew on and then shot the werewolf my brother and I count as family. You want to know what's going to come back and really bite you in the ass? _He's got a human psychic, two Fae, a mage and both Winchesters on his side._ Tell me: how royally fucked are you?"

It was Sophie who chuckled, looking pissed and pleased at the same time. She was Fae, wild and free, wandering and manipulating just because. And now these people, these strange hunters, had shot the werewolf who meant _safety_ to her, had exposed Nate to still more death and dangerous possibilities. For the first time in centuries, Sophie Devereaux was livid for someone else's sake. Her hair, her clothes, her nails, the roof she was standing on—it all frosted in the cold fury she so wanted to unleash.

Parker's happy yelp of, "Got it!" had both Nate and Dean exhaling with relief. Sophie lost focus on her anger and turned to help her comrades. Sam was the only one still watching the strangers with care—until the wolf rose to his feet.

Eliot Spencer was a dangerous man and an even more dangerous wolf. His control was awe-inspiring and he had a very tactical mind that served him well. And he was a werewolf with a pack to protect; his inner wolf lunged forward to seize control. It took over only because he was fighting to function through the pain.

Dean saw the moment his lover's wildly protective nature took over. "Hold him!" he yelped, swearing viciously as he crossed the debris from the salt and burn.

Feral strength and fury coiled in taut muscles as the werewolf crouched to leap at the strange woman. Fur bristled from his ruff clear down his spine. A snarl curled his lips. And then a flying blonde tackled the wolf into the distraught man next to him.

There was a loud but less angry grumble, but Dean could tell that his lover had regained control. Despite the blonde limpet clinging to him, the wolf rose to his feet and nosed Ford's cheek as if asking how the other man felt.

Nate was just starting to smile wryly when the female hunter managed to sneak in close enough to sink a silver dagger into Eliot's side.

The sound was as much rage as pain, and Dean felt himself pale. There was no possible way this was going to end well.

Fangs locked around the woman's wrist; bone crunched and cracked, snapping in a split second. One furry shoulder knocked her sprawling. He didn't listen to the pained cries coming from her mouth; she hadn't listened to any of them and the wolf was in charge at the moment.

Just as his jaws neared her throat, there was a _clink_ and a popping sound and suddenly a pungent liquid doused the werewolf's head. For a long, frozen moment, everyone was shocked and still. Slowly, the werewolf turned just enough to glower at the person who had just up-ended Nathan Ford's flask of liquor over his head.

Parker blinked and shrugged at him. "What? Nate's in no shape for it right now and he _needs_ you."

Her words startled the wolf into looking back at Nate; the man really did look horrible. Dark hair slick with sweat, eyes clouded, Ford's face was pale as a sheet and he rocked back and forth, muttering to himself.

When Eliot's ears flicked back and he whined with canine concern, Dean knew it would be alright. Somehow, it would be alright.

_For tonight._

But it was Sam who spoke to the other hunters, because Dean couldn't take his eyes off the knife still in Eliot's side.

"After all these thankless years, Dean doesn't really give a flying rat's ass about anyone he doesn't like as a person, or who isn't a child. If we see you in this country again, lady, you're dead even if Eliot decides you're not worth his time." Sam was especially venomous, making _lady_ sound like the most scathing insult to come from his mouth. Then he dismissed her, turning to face her male comrades. "You," he stated, pointing to the first man, the man who had immediately put all of his weapons away when confronted. "You're alright as long as you remember this; we won't chase you out of the country. _You,"_ he said to the second man, "are going to have to prove yourself, because none of us here will take non-aggression as a given anymore."

Eliot seemed to flow over the rooftop back to Nate, unwilling to show the extent of his injuries. Dean, moving to join them, couldn't help but narrow his eyes the slightest bit.

When a cold nose to the fingertips didn't get Ford to stop shuddering, the wolf gently took that same hand into his mouth and shook it back and forth, then used one paw to push the man over. Nathan twitched and grunted, blinking.

"Eliot?" His voice was rough, raspy with fear and the aftershocks of death-touched psychic power.

The wolf eased Nathan's hand down to his side, then huffed a soft bark, the tip of his tail wagging. Nathan sat up again, still shuddering, and cuddled against the wolf as his mind focused in the present once more.

Of course, the time he stopped shuddering was the same moment when the ill-regarded woman drew and fired a gun with her uninjured limb. Because she shot it one-handed, she missed Eliot—but hit Nate. Nothing fatal, not even a serious wound, but it rocked the man into the werewolf and jostled _his_ wounds, and that combination of fear and pain and fury shoved Eliot's wolf to the fore. Again.

Dean swore vehemently enough to turn the air blue and lunged toward the woman. Either he'd stop her or he'd stop Eliot; either worked for Dean, though the woman might come out a little worse off if he had to stop her.

The woman's comrades stood gaping, disbelief clearly written on their faces. Clenching his jaw, the black-haired man stepped forward empty-handed. His every move portrayed his intent to get her away so she'd stop causing problems. Their younger blond teammate followed, uncomfortable but aghast at the woman's persistence in attacking a werewolf who obviously could and would kill her if she pushed too hard—which she appeared set on doing.

Pain from the gunshot wound focused a man's mind wonderfully; no one needed to tell Nate that this was a disaster in the making. Ignoring the searing sensation in his nerve endings, Nathan clamped both hands around the injured leg and let Parker heft him to his feet. What he was planning was certainly playing dirty, but Eliot didn't need more death on his conscience and Parker must have had one of her Fae flashes of inexplicable insight, because she wasn't rushing to interfere. Her simple, supportive actions told Nathan all he needed to know.

Dean and Nate reached the werewolf at the same time. Their hands landed on Eliot's muzzle in tandem, though Dean grabbed a handful of fur and held the wolf's ruff while Nate ensured his own free hand had contact from the base of one pointed ear to a spot under that furry jaw.

"Eliot!" Nate called softly. "She's not after us. If she comes at you again, lead her off or knock her out." He coughed and winced. "I'd rather not be shot again."

Parker snorted inelegantly from somewhere behind Nate. "If she tries to hurt any of us again, I'll push her off the roof."

Sam flashed a grin. "I like that idea. Let's run with it. You can handle that much of a drop, too, right, Eliot? Because it's only fair."

Like any human had any chance against a pissed off werewolf. Like any human stood a chance of victory against Eliot in either form. Ha. How come Dean had never known his brother was this funny? Oh, right—because he wasn't.

Nathan frowned at the long-haired Winchester. "Can we at least get the knife out of his side first?" he asked acerbically.

Abashed, Sam ducked his head and agreed, keeping a sharp eye on the malevolent woman. Dean had taken her gun and, sick of his lover being injured for no good reason, searched her for any other weapons she could use against them. She didn't appear to be pleased, but even Sam didn't give a damn how mad she got; she was already insane or she wouldn't have tried to kill Eliot just for being a werewolf. _And to think, regular humans think **racism** is bad. If they knew about all the different humanoid or sometimes humanoid supernatural species that exist, it would be even worse._

Eliot snorted derisively, as if dismissing the pain and the knife. His ears flicked in curiosity as he noticed something no one else seemed to: a canine of some sort walking on the edge of the roof. It wasn't a wolf, wasn't quite big enough. A coyote?

It turned to look him in the eye as its jaw dropped in a laughing grin. Eliot corrected himself. _Not **a** coyote. Coyote himself. I'm honored. _But the thought held a tinge of wariness. Of all his ancestors' beloved spirits and gods, Coyote was the most chaotic. At this moment, he wasn't sure that was a good thing; Coyote's mere presence was an omen.

The knife was pulled from his side with little warning; Eliot flinched and growled unhappily. He didn't see Coyote move, but suddenly every eye on the roof was focused on him and the trickster who was standing in front of him. Eliot didn't even have time to pull his head back warily before Coyote let out a yipped laugh and bounced forward to touch noses with him. A current of power surged through him, shocking his system and dropping the werewolf where he stood. He ended up with his head on Nate's uninjured leg and his furry chest on Dean's lap, and somehow Coyote kept their noses in contact the whole time. Mischievous eyes twinkled; Coyote breathed into Eliot's nose, just like any other canine might, but the werewolf felt that breath go through him, change him.

Eliot blinked, met eyes that sparkled with humor and ears that stood cheerfully upright. He sighed softly and tilted one ear sideways, silently asking what had been done to him.

Coyote changed into his human form, still yipping laughter. "Wolf was right; you _are_ a good one! But you play games that are more my style than Wolf's, so I say that gives me the right to meddle." His grin widened, but despite the way it invited the werewolf to share the humor, Eliot didn't feel like being amused. "We're going to have lots of fun together. I just know it." Then his eyes shifted sideways and he said, "I like your little blonde friend; she's interesting." The coyote-turned-human strode cheerfully over to Parker and poked her in the forehead. "You and I will have fun times, too." Casting a grin over his shoulder at the disgruntled werewolf, Coyote stepped away from Parker and off the edge of the roof.

Sophie hurried over to Parker, asking, "Where did he go?"

Parker shrugged. "The wind took him," she replied.

Frowning, Sophie checked the ground below, but it was clear. No bodies. Maybe the stranger really had vanished in the wind. Whatever the case, he was gone now, though. She shook her head, brown hair swishing softly.

Dean was swearing under his breath. "Fucking hell! El, you okay?"

Stunned, Eliot blinked and met worried green eyes. He growled softly as he lifted his head, but when he tried to rise to his feet, he staggered and nearly knocked Dean over.

"Woah, easy, man!" The older Winchester brother steadied the werewolf with a casual touch, concern in his eyes.

With a louder growl, Eliot shook his head. Then he tried to scent the air and sneezed. Three sneezes, immediately after each other. Teeth bared in another snarl, he sneezed a fourth time, then felt a phantom hand on his head, Coyote's voice in his ear.

_You have my bloodline as well as Wolf's, kinsman. Let me show you what it means to really be Coyote...._

He didn't even have time to process the meaning of the words before he sneezed a fifth time—and this time, he could feel his body contort in another shift. Only, he didn't turn back into a human and this shift was both quicker and much less painful.

Nate stared. He wasn't used to being totally flabbergasted, but this situation seemed to call for it. Surely Eliot hadn't been able to take coyote form before, right? Yes, he was pretty sure his hitter's only two forms were wolf and man, maybe something in between. Nothing smaller. But he was definitely a coyote now.

Green eyes watched in puzzled silence, then flicked a glance toward the spot he'd last seen the newest stranger. "Please tell me that was not a were-anything or a skinwalker."

Eliot shook his head, grumbled and joined Parker and Sophie on the edge of the roof. He sniffed about for any hint of where Coyote might have gone, but there was no scent to be found. Disgruntled, he was about to turn and walk back to the others when he felt something. It was nothing he could quantify, no scent or sound or even sight, but he could feel Coyote's presence. Hackles up and fangs bared, the retrieval specialist dove off the rooftop and shifted back into his wolf form in midair.

The wolf landed with a _thump_ so loud it was audible even to the humans on the roof, then took off running.

"Okay," said the younger blond stranger. "I get that he's a werewolf and we're hunters and this shit's all supposed to be fucking weird...but what the hell? He's been shot and stabbed, a coyote comes out of nowhere and makes friendly with the werewolf before turning into a human itself and somehow vanishing, _and the only thing that seems to matter to you people is that two of your own have been hurt._ I don't understand. What the hell kind of mystical shit is going on here?!"

His raven-haired teammate sighed and cast a weary glance at the Winchester brothers. "Rough phrasing, but he has a point. I'd like to know what's going on here, too."

Sam kept his eyes on the woman, though she seemed to be having some kind of breakdown now. "Dean? Ford? Did it seem like Eliot recognized the coyote?"

Before either man could respond, a voice boomed out from the speakers. "Yeah, he had that look, man. That _I know you and I'm pissed, go away_ look. Only I get the feeling the other fella didn't care."

Nathan frowned. "They acted like dogs that had just met tonight; how would Eliot know him?"

"How should I know, man? Besides, he's a wolf right now. He can't really tell us anything until sunrise at least, Nate."

"That was a rhetorical question, Alec," Nate sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Parker, climb down and follow him, please. You can get down fastest."

"I'll meet up with them," Dean said. The phrasing said he was offering; the tone said he wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Right," agreed Nate. "The salt and burn is done?" He waited for an affirmative reply. "Good, then we can regroup back at the vehicles."

"Can we get a better explanation of things?" came the blond hunter's plaintive query.

Sophie sent a scathing glance his way; he shut up rather quickly.

It was Dean who sighed and ran a hand through his short hair, green eyes staring with frustration at the sight of Parker scrambling down the wall and running after Eliot. "Yeah, well, if you want more answers, I guess you'll have to go with the team and play nice. Sam—"

"I know," Sam said, smiling slightly. "Knock the woman out and tie her so she can't get free. You're going after Eliot and Parker, of course."

Dean cast a rueful smile at his brother. "Sorry, bro. You know I'd chase after you if shit this weird was happening, but this time it's Eliot instead."

Sam snorted. "So flattering. Get your ass gone already, Dean; you're going to have to give me some answers when you meet up with us."

"Yeah, yeah." Flashing a cocky smirk, Dean hurried back to the door and took the stairs three at a time.

Then it was Sophie's turn to chivvy everyone along, pushing them toward vehicles and safety—and Alec. And, maybe, answers.


	2. Twenty Questions with a Werewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coyote does some more meddling. Then Sam and Alec get to play 20 Questions with a werewolf.
> 
> FYI: my humor blew everything out of proportion here. Everything is turning perverted because Dean wants to get laid. Unfortunately, the best laid plans and all that.... ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still own nothing but the OCs and make absolutely no money from this. Even so, it's delightful to write.

Away from the specter of death, Nate was all business as he opened the van door. "What do you have for us, Alec?"

Alec eyed the strange hunters, though the female had been bound and gagged and left in the car she'd come in. "Uh, yeah," he said, wary.

Neither hunter knew the African American sitting in front of the computer, but he looked like a hacker. The black-haired man raised his hands peaceably. "We're not looking to start trouble; just want to know what's going on so we can discount the werewolf we saw as a threat."

Expressive dark eyes narrowed. "Come after him again," growled the hacker in an ominous imitation of Eliot's own snarl, "and our werewolf will be the least of your worries."

Nate eyed them all calmly, pouring himself a shot from the flask haphazardly stashed in the door pocket. "Are you done with the threats and posturing yet? I want to know who the strange coyote was and what the hell he did to Eliot."

If only he'd realized that he ought to have been more concerned about their odd pack's thief.

  

* * *

 

Parker could feel her ponytail bouncing behind her head as she ran. The difference, she decided, was that this time she wasn't running _from_ anything, but _toward_ Eliot. And, yeah, in regular-people logic, running toward a werewolf was the kind of thing people got locked in mental wards for. But this was Eliot and this was her, and she was his pack and he was _Eliot,_ damn it, and he was never unsafe for her!

She rounded the corner and slammed into solid, unmovable muscle. Her hands moved before she could think, buried fingers into warm fur, because solid, unmovable muscle was Eliot. Especially at that size.

"There you are!" she said cheerfully, hugging him.

He didn't look at her, which meant he was trying to focus on someone he didn't trust. Parker followed his gaze and saw the coyote from earlier, which seemed amused.

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't know who you are," she stated bluntly, "but I'm with him and if he doesn't want you here, it doesn't matter what you want."

The coyote changed into human form again, smiling with a level of charm Parker suspected he'd stolen from Eliot. "I was expecting a variation on the _these are not the droids you're looking for_ speech, not brush-offs and threats."

Parker felt Eliot shake himself free and move to stand directly between her and the stranger. She didn't mind; it was Eliot and he did this because he cared. "That's what Alec, Nate and Sophie are for. Eliot and I, we don't go in for words as much." Her gaze was cold as she watched the coyote man.

Coyote grinned. "Yes, I've discovered that much about Eliot; he's smart, too, and very connected to his wolf self."

The thief tilted her head. "He _is_ his wolf self."

Yipping laughter was Coyote's response. "Sass _and_ smarts! No wonder he considers you pack!"

Dean barreled around the corner and knocked Parker over because he couldn't stop in time, either. And then, because Eliot was watching the stranger and he knew better than to just leave it at that with Parker, he cursed himself and apologized, then offered her a hand up. She took it just to let him know she wasn't mad.

"Little thief," said Coyote, "would you like to be able to run on four legs with your pack?"

Parker stilled and stared. "What?" Of course she wanted to be able to run on four legs with Eliot! They could have so much fun! But she wasn't at all sure she trusted this man or his offer.

Before either human could do more than blink, Coyote rushed forward. He was met and stopped by Eliot, but Coyote reached across the wolf and tugged Parker forward so he could breathe into her nose, too.

She stiffened, seemed to collapse on herself with a pained whine, and the next thing Dean knew, there was a coyote buried in Parker's clothes. Eliot snarled and shouldered Coyote away from his pack.

Coyote raised his hands in surrender and went amicably. "I'm not going to turn your lover into a coyote. He doesn't have the heart of a coyote."

Eliot graced the manipulative male with a scathing glance before thinking, _And I do? I'm a werewolf, you jackass, I'm not supposed to be a coyote as well._

"Oh, but you have such a wonderful sense of paybacks!" Coyote grinned. "And wolves have much in common with coyotes, though wolves are more serious. When you feel safe, your sense of play borders on being very much coyote." Then he added slyly, "Besides, wolves don't go in much for deception, just distraction, and you can definitely deceive people."

The werewolf cast a disgusted look at Coyote before returning his eyes to his pack.

Dean had helped coyote-Parker out of her clothes and folded the garments. Now he was sitting and she was half in his lap, playing with nips and mock growls. "You had better have an explanation when you change back, El," Dean stated seriously, then poked Parker on the nose. "I think I've had enough surprises for one day. I want to get us all safe, treat your wounds, and figure out what the hell has been happening here tonight. And then I want you in bed, naked, and I'm going to let you put that werewolf stamina to use."

Eliot flashed a canine grin, tongue lolling out in a toothy laugh. And then he flicked an ear and his tail dismissively at Coyote as he walked back to his pack.

Coyote just smiled. "Yes, we're done for the night."

Green eyes frowned at Parker as Dean completely ignored Coyote. "Since I'm carrying your gear and clothes, you're going to have to hitch a ride with Eliot if you get tired on the way back."

Parker didn't respond; she was too busy bouncing playfully around Eliot.

  

* * *

 

Sam watched his brother walk up, wolf-Eliot pacing calmly beside him. There was a coyote on Eliot's back and no sign of Parker except the clothes and gear in Dean's hands. Both canines tensed at the presence of the other hunters, the ones who were distinctly _not pack._ He wondered if Eliot was thinking murder, knew that if Parker were here, she'd be wanting to stab somebody.

Dean shoved Parker's belongings at Sophie. "Fucking hell," he grumbled, glowering suspiciously at the two strange men. "So, okay, whoever the coyote man was? He did something to Eliot and now Eliot can be a coyote, too. And then he did the same thing to Parker. As if I didn't have enough problems trying to keep one shapeshifter in clothes."

Eliot graced Dean with the look those words deserved; Sam could only agree with the werewolf.

"I don't buy that last bit, man," Alec countered. "'cause, ya know, I've seen how you're always trying to get him _out_ of his clothes."

The strangers blinked, the blond one tensing. "You're...in a sexual relationship with a werewolf?" asked the older of the duo.

Dean scowled and thought wistfully of murder. "Not that it's your business, but he's my lover." A corner of his mouth kicked up in a lustful grin. "And for all that he's a werewolf...he's got stamina and he knows how to please his bed partners. Being part of his pack and one of the few people he would kill himself before hurting, well, that's just a bonus, to me."

"It means a lot to me," muttered Sam. "Since he's still not sure he likes me."

"You're an ass, though, Sammy."

"Shut up."

"If I shut up, I can't explain anything."

"You know what I meant."

"Sure," drawled Dean—and shut up.

For an entire minute, Dean got to watch the changing expressions on everyone's faces. And then Eliot got tired of the silence and standing in car doors. Dean yelped as a furry shoulder knocked him sideways into Sam. Eliot took advantage of the open car door and climbed into the back seat of the Impala, where Parker slid off him and curled against his side to watch everyone else, eyes open wide.

Alec and Sophie were watching Nate, who did not appear to be tracking well. He was shaking and pale, not even drinking now. They shared a concerned glance before Sophie said, "You look like you need to cuddle someone, Nathan."

Ford flinched and said no, voice raspy with fear and the specter of death. Eliot wasn't the only one wanting to kill, nor was Dean. Nathan kind of wanted to shoot the two strangers, too, but the wish only brought death that much closer, left him that much colder.

"Alright, man, no cuddling with humans just now. But Eliot's a wolf right now and can't talk your ear off, and somehow Parker's a coyote, so she can't talk either. Let's get you in the back of the Impala with them for now and we'll worry about the rest of this later. Or the rest of us can sort it out. Whatever."

Nate paused and thought about it for a moment, but the lure of silent comfort was too appealing to deny. He let Alec help him into the car. And then, with the werewolf taking up two thirds of the back seat, he leaned over and buried his face in fur. Eliot just moved his head ever so slightly to press the side of his face against Nathan's knee.

Parker glanced between the interesting conversation outside and the silent comfort of her pack. Her pack needed her more right now. She dropped to the floorboard and crossed until she could climb up in the middle. When she was finally comfortable, she was snuggled up against Nate's chest, sprawled across Eliot's neck and shoulder while her canine packmate relaxed on his side.

Eliot just sighed through his nose; Parker's tail in his ear and her hind paws in his face were just part of the price he'd pay to have pack. Especially this pack.

Through the open door on the side closest to the canines, Sam asked Eliot, "So, you knew who that was, right? The coyote?"

There was a disgruntled sound. "That means yes," Dean translated helpfully.

Sam cast a glare at his brother. "Alright, so I guess we're playing a yes or no guessing game now." He ran a hand through his hair, feeling hassled. "Silence for no, snarl for yes?"

Eliot snorted.

"I'll take that as a yes."

The unknown hunters shared a sideways glance. This Winchester was an asshole.

Sophie read the look as well as she could read their uncomfortable body language. "Yes, he is. But he comes with Dean, and Dean comes with Eliot—"

Alec snorted. "Uh, nice phrasing, Sophie. I don't think there's incest involved."

"Wha—? Shut up, Alec. I didn't mean it like that. And not everyone is as perverted as you are."

Dark eyebrows rose. "Next you'll be saying that Eliot's ability to charm people into his bed is based on some kind of animal magnetism."

"Or hypnotism," muttered Sam, irritated at the distraction.

"What I meant is that they're kind of a package deal, and since Eliot is family, that makes Dean family, which means we have to put up with Sam being family," Sophie snapped at the hacker.

"Thanks," Sam snarked back at her. "I feel the love, I really do. You welcome me with open mouths and cold shoulders."

Dean snorted. "She does this kind of thing to everyone she cares about; haven't you noticed? She tries to boss them and ends up talking like they're just toys she takes out to play with, and then she feels horrible and doesn't know how to apologize—though Eliot's good at making it look like she has when he gets tired of her guilt."

Eliot growled lowly from the Impala, which meant he agreed, according to Sam's terms.

"I don't know whether to think you're all insane or just have a habit of letting your mouths run away with you," came the slow voice of the black-haired hunter.

"Both," laughed the older Winchester. "Definitely both." He flashed a grin that invited them to share the humor.

"Hey, man!" Alec protested. "I'm not the one who was implying incest or unwanted-ness and I _definitely_ wasn't being an ass!"

"But you opened your mouth and called her on it," countered Dean. "So my point stands." He flashed another grin. "There are reasons I like Eliot; one of them is the way he tends to know when to keep his damn mouth shut."

It's Sam's turn to snort. "Or when to keep it open."

Dean raised a brow at his brother. "Told you not to come back early."

"You had the car and all the money, asshole!" Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, Sam continued. "What, you think I _wanted_ to see him on his knees, doing something to my brother that involves a subject I don't want to touch with a ten foot fucking pole?!"

Alec manfully refrained from commenting on the amount of perverted ways that could be interpreted. He wasn't entirely without a filter between his brain and his mouth!

"Sammy," Dean said, holding up a hand to cut off his brother's tirade. "If you keep on this subject, I will answer those prior accusing questions you threw at me. The ones about who likes what during doggy style." Eliot's growling chuff of canine laughter made Dean grin, green eyes sparkling with humor. "See? Even Eliot says I should."

Sam choked. His brother was going to _what?!_ Oh, hell no! So he was very grateful when Hardison saved the day, or at least the relationship, by getting the conversation back on track.

"Okay, so, you know whoever that was," he said to Eliot—not because he thought Eliot wouldn't follow an abrupt topic change but because he didn't know how well the strange hunters would. There were perks to working with Eliot; one of them was knowing that the retrieval specialist was excellent at multitasking. "Had you met him before?"

Silence.

"Okay, so you hadn't met him but you knew him. Because of the coyote form?"

Low growls between periods of silence.

"Kind of? Is that what you mean?"

A solid growl. Yes.

"Alright. Did you recognize his scent?"

Silence.

"Some werewolf ability help you know who he was?"

More silence.

Hardison cursed to himself. "Man, I wish you could talk during this time of the month. Nothin' worse than playin' Twenty Questions with a werewolf on a full moon." He shook his head. "Was it some other ability of yours, something not werewolf?"

A thoughtful pause, then Eliot growled softly.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Wait. You've got Native blood, right?"

Another low growl.

"That...." Sam choked on the words he was thinking. "That...wasn't Coyote, was it?"

This time the response was as much groan as growl.

"It was?" The low growl of response had Sam swiping a hand over his face. Then he ran his fingers into his hair. "Shit."

Another growl.

"You didn't have to second that," groused the younger Winchester.

"Coyote?" asked the blond stranger.

"Native American myths and legends; he always brings chaos and stories with him can have either happy or sad endings. From what I know, he's not always nice, even to his allies." Sam looked grim.

"And," Dean added, "he's messing with Parker and Eliot. Fuck."

There was a silence which clearly conveyed the _we're so screwed_ mood they all shared. Then Alec said, "Well, I guess that finishes this round of Twenty Questions with a Werewolf. Ladies and gentlemen, come back the following full moon for the next game!" He sounded more resigned than cheerful, but the mockery in his tone was evident.

"Right," said the black-haired stranger. "I don't want to get involved in this. I'm gone."

"Uh, I'll follow your lead," the blond stranger agreed. "I want no part of this."

Sam appeared darkly amused. "Just make sure the woman gets on a plane; it would be a pleasure to kill her. Hell, I'll watch Eliot do it if she's still here come sunrise."

"He doesn't hit women," Dean reminded his brother. "Much though I think this one deserves it. Maybe I can, instead."

"Doesn't hit women unless they're trying to kill him and he thinks they have a chance at it, you mean. I'll arm her if I have to; he deserves the chance to kill her without feeling guilty about it."

The older stranger muttered, "Violent fuckers. Must be Winchesters," as he led his teammate away.

Dean grinned. "I'm taking these three to bed, Sammy; I'm sure Nate's exhausted, I want some time with El, and Parker still doesn't know how to change back, so she should probably be near Eliot just in case."

Sophie pouted subtly. "She could come home with me."

"Or me," volunteered Alec.

Sam disagreed. "She looks comfortable where she is, and I think I remember hearing something about needing pack close by the first time." He didn't say that he'd heard this about werewolves, not...whatever Parker was now, Fae and...some kind of shapeshifter.

Dean snorted. "I don't care what your arguments are; you have to get them out of the car before you can get them to do what you want, and I don't think that will happen unless they're willing." As he turned to the driver's seat and opened the door, he flashed a grin over his shoulder. "They're willing to sleep in my bed tonight, man; it's too bad I'm probably the only one thinking of it as a foursome." And he winked.

Eliot sighed loudly.

"Lecher," was Sam's only comment. "I am _so_ not sleeping near you tonight. Sophie, Alec, can I beg a bed or something from one of you two?"

"I've got a spare bed," they jinxed.

"Oh-ho! Somebody might get lucky tonight and it won't be me this time!"

"You're an ass," grumbled Sam, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

"You're my younger brother, Sammy; it's in the instruction manual somewhere."

With muttered goodbyes, the group separated for the night, though Dean didn't ask where Sam was sleeping and Sam resolutely refused to consider how crowded his brother's bed was going to be.

 

* * *

 

Dean helped Nate into the house Eliot owned nearby, stopping for the briefest of meals because the night had been exhausting for them all. "Do you want to sleep alone or with furry company? Keeping in mind that I'll be sleeping with furry company regardless of what you choose."

Nate groaned and rubbed his forehead, wishing he didn't have to think. It was enough for Dean when shaking fingers tightened in the fur at Eliot's ruff; he hustled the older man off to bed. Eliot ended up stuck in the middle, disgruntled because his thick fur would make him overheat easier. Parker settled herself on the pillow between Nathan and Eliot, tucked close to both but in the perfect position to stare at Nate until he woke up again. Dean kind of figured she must have made a habit of it, or it would probably have bothered Eliot more.

Green eyes closed on a tired sigh. Dean rested his cheek against one of Eliot's forelegs and buried his hands in fur that was still silkier than a rough-and-tumble werewolf ought to have, then drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Nathan jerked awake, pulse racing, heart in his throat, tears threatening to fall. He didn't recognize the room he was in. And then, in the midst of what was fast turning into a panic attack, something moved next to him. An arm draped over him, solid with muscle and definitely not female. Whoever it was growled lowly, muttering something unintelligible before rubbing a five o'clock shadow against his back. _Eliot._

He blinked again and realized Parker was staring at him very intently, though seeing her as a coyote still unnerved him. But he was with his team and they were safe. Though...he frowned and craned his head, trying to find the other man he knew should be here, somewhere.

Dean eased out of bed, laughing softly. "Don't worry about it, Ford. He's not much for words just after a full moon, either. You're not going to be pestered if you want to stay in bed and just enjoy the warmth and comfort. I'll get things ready so Eliot can start breakfast when he wakes up next time."

Nate frowned after the green-eyed blond, but settled back again.

There was a low growl from Eliot, then the arm that had been holding Nate in place changed positions. As one leg pinned the older man in place and his upper chest leaned a little further into his boss, Eliot dropped a hand over Nate's eyes. "Thinkin' too much," was the sleep-rough grumble.

Nathan smiled at the words, felt Parker move to curl against his stomach. He could get used to this.

 

* * *

 

The scent of coffee drifted past Eliot's nose. It smelled irresistible, so he woke to a growling stomach and dry throat. He groaned and buried his nose against the back so conveniently in front of him.

His next breath brought him not Dean's scent but Nate's, which brought last night crashing to mind again. Eliot sighed and rolled to his feet, grabbing clothes from the duffel Dean must have fetched from the Impala and shuffling out the door. Behind him, Nate sprawled across the warm spot he'd vacated.

When he was dressed and in the kitchen, Eliot poured himself a glass of orange juice and downed half of it, then turned to face Dean. "So. No jealousy from last night? 'cause I seem to remember you saying something...."

Dean grinned and leered at the long-haired retrieval specialist. "A little, but I couldn't resist seeing you two all cuddled up together. Parker was in fur, so she doesn't count."

"I was wearing fur, too, Dean."

"Your fur doesn't count."

Eliot snorted and turned to the fridge, knowing breakfast would be his task. Dean slid arms around him from behind, buried his nose in warm hair and skin and Eliot. They stayed like that for a long moment, just enjoying the touch. Then warm lips pressed a kiss to a strong shoulder, arms squeezed and reluctantly let go. It was the day after a full moon, after all; food was a must.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I didn't mention it last chapter, but I will here: I made Eliot a coyote shifter as well because it opened up all sorts of possibilities for size remarks. (Don't tell Eliot I said that.)
> 
> And, like I said above...my humor blew everything out of proportion here. *shakes head* But, y'know, I think it was pretty funny, if kind of mean in places. (Poor Sophie.... Poor Sam....)
> 
> This chapter's not as long as the first, but if I push it much further, Dean's going to insist on getting laid and it will end up being something more like 8000 words instead of 3700-some. So this chapter ends here and the next chapter will feature Dean getting laid. (Seriously, he's been insisting on that since the first chapter started, only Eliot told him they had to finish the first chapter and then Dean felt sorry for Nate and put off the fun times, and now he's to the point where he doesn't want to wait any longer.) Yes, I tend to do what the characters want as long as it fits with the story. No, the third chapter will not be out for a bit. Hopefully no longer than a week or two.


	3. A Sparky Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets laid. There's some unintentional voyeurism. Mostly, Dean gets laid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dean gets laid, finally. And, um, massive cliffhanger. Also Parker being inappropriate in her own strange ways.
> 
> Disclaimer: I still don't own Leverage or SPN or anything except the effort it takes to get them all to cooperate for this story.
> 
> Warnings: Explicit M/M (kind of the point of this chapter), bondage, some dominance and submission, swearing, some mention of nudity. Also, voyeurism of a sort. I think that's all.
> 
> A/N #2: 2,009 words of foreplay is frickin' ridiculous. Damn Dean's indecisiveness.

Parker nudged her leader awake when the smell of food wafted under the closed door and tickled her nose. She had to wait for him to open the door, then trotted out ahead of him toward the food. She wasn't counting on Eliot getting in her way.

"Come on, Parker, let's see if I can talk you through changing back." He picked her up when she tried to dodge around him to get to the food, ignored her bites even when they drew blood.

When he set her on the bed, she listened closely to his description of how to pull the change into herself and resume one form or another. He suggested she think of picking locks and jumping off buildings, maybe even eating popcorn or chocolate. They must have been good suggestions, because the next thing she knew, she was naked on the bed, hair hanging loose, and Eliot was standing with his back to her.

"Dean handed your clothes to Sophie; you'll have to borrow some until we meet up again. Might think about stashing some at all our places, just to be sure you have stuff that fits from now on." With a nod, he said he'd meet her in the dining room and slid out the door.

It was only as she was pulling on a set of Eliot's clothes that she realized his voice had sounded rougher than usual.

* * *

Dean watched his lover slip back out of the room. Since he shut the door behind him, Parker must have made it back to human form.

"You left her clothes with Sophie," Eliot murmured, voice a low growl.

"What? Oh, shit, I did." Dean blinked and laughed. "Uh, whose clothes is she borrowing?"

"Probably mine." He didn't sigh, mostly because he was relatively certain she'd be stealing his clothes even more just to get reactions if he did. Instead, he picked up a plate and worked with Dean to heap servings of food for them all. When everything was dished out, they carried it in to the table.

It was nice, to sit down to a meal with people who weren't guiltily hiding secrets like Sam did. That was Dean's thought as the conversation drifted over topics and food vanished from plates—particularly Eliot's.

When they had finished eating, Dean pointed out the entertainment and finished by stating that he and Eliot would be in the attic for an hour.

Nate raised a brow but didn't comment. His leg was in some pain but Dean had slipped him some of Eliot's more powerful pain meds while changing the bandages earlier and he didn't know where the alcohol was hidden here. With his luck, it would be up in the attic. He wasn't dumb enough to try sneaking past a werewolf and Winchester could be a possessive bastard sometimes, so that was further reason to avoid the attic for the time being. Besides the fact that they intended to...well, that subject gave him headaches, so he just wasn't thinking about it. At all.

Parker merely asked if there were any spare harnesses about that she could use. She pouted a little when told there weren't, but settled in to watch old Scooby Doo episodes on the television Dean admitted he'd had Eliot buy for his own entertainment. After becoming a coyote, there was a whole new side of Scooby Doo to consider.

Dean took advantage of the momentary lack of attention on them to tug Eliot up the stairs. He would wipe the smile off those lips when they were alone in the attic.

* * *

Eliot knew Dean was in a mood. It wasn't the one he'd been in before, because he wasn't making quips about werewolf stamina. In fact, it seemed like he was feeling bossy and confident—in charge and liking it.

The attic door shut behind them and Eliot heard Dean lean against it. "Strip," came the low, lustful growl.

Anticipation shivered over his skin. Eliot shucked his clothes with werewolf haste, a subliminal, primal growl vibrating in his chest.

Green eyes all but glowed with feral, predatory glee. Eliot was his, Eliot was cooperating, and they were both going to get laid. Again. Finally.  _The entirety of the full moon_ _ **and**_ _the night after is too fucking long to wait!_ But he was definitely enjoying the view as the werewolf stripped down to bare skin and cast a smoldering glance back over his shoulder. It wasn't Dean's fault when the look pulled him forward to nip and kiss that delectable expanse of skin. It  _wasn't,_ no matter what anyone said. Eliot was just that irresistible, damn it.

Speaking of irresistible... Dean leaned forward until his lips brushed Eliot's ear as he spoke in a low voice. "Think I wanna hear you this time, El," came the husky growl, punctuated by several nips and a tug on the werewolf's earlobe.

 _Shit,_ was very nearly the last coherent thought in Eliot's head.  _He's gonna be a sadistic fuckin' tease about this..._ The thought ended on a strangled groan as the green-eyed human proved him right.

Dean could feel himself almost purring against his lover's neck, had to leave one last kiss and step away to retain control of himself. "On your knees by the bed, El, and wait for me."

Lust coiled in his gut, drew muscles taut with need. Eliot complied, felt his mind begin the complicated slide into a more submissive headspace. It would pose no danger to Dean or the rest of his pack, but experience had taught that it made his wolf rise to control easier when the slightest outside danger threatened. And Dean knew that. So, with a soft sigh, Eliot knelt and folded his hands behind him. The pose pulled a little at the bullet and stab wounds from the night before, but both felt half healed and there were bandages over the injuries.

Seeing the other man like that, hair unbound, kneeling nude before the bed like it was a place of worship...it really got to Dean. Heart pounding faster, he made a wordless murmur of approval as he removed his own clothes. Then it was only the barest of steps to press against the retrieval specialist's back. Dean slid around his lover, deliberately keeping skin to skin as he sat on the bed, straddling Eliot's knees. He wasn't really feeling gentle tonight so much as he wanted to tease and torment, though. So he whispered, "El... You gonna be good for me?" It was cruel to draw out every syllable, but Winchesters weren't known for being nice. Besides, his lover needed to pay for making him worry over those wounds...

Eliot shuddered with lust; Dean knew just what tones would play havoc on his werewolf senses—and he was taking full advantage. The bastard. He couldn't help but be slightly disgruntled about how fond that sounded when he felt so on edge.

That low, needy whine that's more than half growl had direct lines to both Dean's heart and his loins. The noise may have been nearly too low of a pitch to hear, but it vibrated straight through his body until green eyes shone with lust and desire and just a touch of possessiveness. Alright, more than a touch; Dean didn't like to share what he considered  _his,_ so it was probably a good thing that Eliot was loyal. Even if it meant Dean might have to share Eliot with Nate...but maybe Nate wouldn't mind being shared, too? It was already impossible to stop wondering what noises they could draw from the mastermind...

A low growl drew his attention back in time to meet wild wolf eyes as Eliot rubbed his face against his hunter's leg. Dean smirked. "Wolfie getting impatient?"

Another low growl, this time with narrowed eyes.

"Don't worry, Wolfie. I play for keeps." And, because Dean could see the coiled muscle readying for a leap, he let the smirk fall from his lips and his entire demeanor took on a hard edge. "Push me and you won't like the consequences." He let the words hang in the air for a moment, but continued before the wolf could take it as a challenge...by the simple method of tossing a more interesting challenge at him. "Now...don't you think it's time for you to show me how much you want this?"

There was that damnable smirk again, flirtatious and lusty and making Eliot want to chase it across his lover's lips. The wolf wanted to hunt it, catch it, play with it. But Eliot's hands were clasped behind his back and he never had been one second-guessing his heart. His heart said Dean was safe, that it was okay to lose his vaunted self-control with the older Winchester brother. So he let his inner wolf drag his face up Dean's leg to put an open mouth just where they both wanted it. Right now, life was pretty good. Tasted pretty good, too.

Dean suppressed a shudder, eyes hooded with lust, green gaze locked with his lover's. He could tell Eliot was in a mood now, was going to push and push and test his control at every turn. The mere idea was wonderful, but watching it, feeling it, looking Eliot straight in the eyes while it actually happened—that was now, that was heaven. What made it hotter was knowing that Eliot had a werewolf's aversion to anyone but pack touching him at all.

For long moments, there was only the touch and slide of lips and tongue, the scrape of teeth, the scratch and sensation of stubble on a strong jaw, the sight of the wolf so close to the surface but controlled by the barest of margins. Controlled by Dean. Controlled by the words of a blond with a bad attitude, the actions of a hunter with a wary, wounded heart. This was the best gift anyone had ever given him, and Eliot had given this gift more than once. It was heady, to have this much control over a werewolf. It was exhilarating, to have this much control over Eliot,of all people.  _Eliot,_  who trusted so few.

Dean licked his lips, struggled with  _want_ and  _need_ and  _mine_ for a moment. Then he tugged his lover up, kissed him fiercely, nipped the werewolf's lower lip, and growled, "On the bed."

There was a pause as Eliot fought his inner wolf's urge to be dominant, but the retrieval specialist won the contest of wills. Long brown hair fell into his face. His eyes flashed bright wolf amber, an indication that the werewolf was  _not_ feeling patient. Moving with deliberation, Eliot sat on the bed and locked eyes with his lover. A werewolf could only take so much submission; Eliot could only allow so much. It didn't leave a lot of leeway.

Green eyes gleamed with a combination of mischief, lust and dominance as Dean read between the lines. Those actions screamed  _make me_ to the Winchester, familiar with this werewolf's peculiarities. It was a challenge Dean would not turn down.

So he eyed his lover for a moment, then said, "It's going to be like that, huh?" He was expecting the huff that answered him. "Best hope you're prepared." Teeth bared in a feral smile—not the werewolf's. Dean stood and walked to his own duffel bag, removing five items.

Five. Items.

The wolf watched through Eliot's eyes as Dean carried the items to the bed, placed them in a neat row beside him.

Lube.

Amber eyes turned back to Dean as a subvocal, lusty growl rumbled through the werewolf's chest.

Cuffs.

Wild eyes narrowed and the wolf bared human teeth at his lover. Dean raised a sardonic eyebrow but didn't comment, setting out the next item.

A toy.

The wolf didn't recognize this one, but the man did. Eliot's grumbled thought was,  _Great, he's not done bein' a sadistic fuckin' tease._

Items four and five were a matched set: leather collar and leash, heavy but high quality material.

If he'd had canine ears, they'd have been flat to his skull. The wolf vehemently did not like the collar, the leash, or the cuffs, and he didn't know what the toy was.

Dean picked the cuffs up again, held Eliot's gaze with lust burning in green eyes. "Keep your hands still for me, El."

The werewolf shuddered, body vibrating with a low growl. Then eyes met his—eyes that held more blue-gray than they had a moment before. Though the growl still rumbled, Dean moved in to work around Eliot, pressing scattered kisses to his lover's shoulder as he cuffed those strong hands behind the werewolf's back. Watching muscles flex as Eliot tested the cuffs was still one of the hottest things he'd ever seen.

Next to be picked up was the collar. All of Eliot had to be in agreement. It was how they worked, how their relationship survived the complications of one of them being a werewolf.

Eliot argued his inner wolf to acquiescence, if not agreement, and bowed his head with a soft sigh. Then his eyes opened, boring into the green gaze watching him so intently. In a gesture innate to all wild things, the werewolf indicated surrender by baring his throat.

From the vent above, a certain blonde thief watched as the blond hunter fastened a leather collar around her packmate's neck. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of that, but Eliot didn't seem to be objecting at all, so she would wait and see. Besides, she could smell them and it was interesting, these odors so strong to her coyote nose. And it wasn't like Eliot couldn't smell her, because he'd been canine longer and had more experience. Of course he knew she was there.

It never occurred to her that she wasn't supposed to watch this, because Eliot never told her to leave. It also never occurred to her that his mind was on other things at the moment.

Five minutes and a lot of really interesting noises later, she realized she didn't have a lock and picks to keep her hands busy, so she slipped away to find some.

* * *

Dean fastened the collar and clipped the leash to it, then stepped back to appreciate the view.  _And man, what a view..._

Eliot, waiting on the bed, nude except for the cuffs holding his hands behind his back and the collar on his neck. And the leash...the leash Dean was holding that indicated control and dominance...

Just the sight alone was enough to send shivers of lust up and down Dean's spine. He licked his lips. It was time to get to the pleasure part—even if he wasn't quite sure how they'd gone from intending to put Eliot's werewolf stamina to use to somehow having a mini dominance contest that Dean was inexplicably determined to win.  _Maybe I just need the assurance that I'm going to get laid._

Shaking all thoughts of self pity and doubt from his head, Dean tugged on the leash and leaned in to meet his lover's lips in a kiss fraught with tension. They both knew what was next. "Turn around."

No further instruction was needed. Eliot turned with careful deliberation, settling on his chest and knees with a silent rumble vibrating deep in his chest. Dean took a moment to admire the way the cuffs held his arms just right to accent the lines of Eliot's body, but a moment was all he could stand to wait.

The lube was cold on Dean's fingers but not for long. Prep was short and sharp, nothing sweet about snarls and cursing, no kindness in this time of need. Just teeth on skin when need turned desperate.

Dean pulled his fingers free and lubed himself up hastily; it was time. Hands on Eliot's hips, Dean slid inside and closed his eyes. Fuck, he felt so good, it was a struggle just to give the other man enough time to adjust.

"Move," came the hoarse growl as hips thrust back against the Winchester.

And damn if that wasn't the hottest thing ever. Dean's eyes opened again, hooded with lust. Hips thrust and met, tension thrummed just under skin, need filled the room.

 _Want him,_ panted something desperate inside Dean.  _Want him bad._

Neither knew that, somewhere down below them, Parker's boundless—and bouncy—enthusiasm was wearing Nate down.

Long moments were lost in sensation as they focused on the feel of skin against skin. The werewolf's skin was still hypersensitive from the full moon—and Dean knew that. He was taking full advantage of the fact, dragging calloused fingers over his lover's body.

Eliot felt sweat sliding over skin, felt Dean's hands on him and the hot, hard length pounding in deep. He shuddered, skin buzzing with different sensations as it moved over the blankets. The werewolf dimly registered the cessation of the noise from the television and then footsteps and voices on the stairs, but he was close, so close...

A low, growling, needy whine brought a feral smile to Dean's lips; sure, Eliot would forever deny the noise had come from him, but just being able to wring those sounds from the other man... Well, Dean Winchester wasn't a nice man, but damn if that didn't make him want to be meaner in a kinda-sorta-maybe sweet way. And no, Dean wasn't going to admit to the sweet part of that statement. Ever.

The werewolf's next breath came in through his nose; Eliot registered the scents of Nate and Parker getting closer, realized he could hear them coming up the stairs to the attic. He tensed instinctively—and the words of warning he'd drawn another breath to give flew away in a curse-laden moan as the hunter behind him lost the fight against overpowering lust.

Dean's hand slid under Eliot to grasp and stroke; his mouth covered Eliot's back and shoulders with kisses and nips. He didn't have to see to know the werewolf's eyes had gone gold with need.

Part of Eliot heard the footsteps come to a stop outside the door. He tensed again, but even he didn't know whether he meant to say  _no_ or  _Nate_ when the doorknob turned. In unintentional synchronicity, Dean bit his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. Overly sensitive from the full moon, the multiple points of stimulation shoved Eliot over the edge and into freefall.

If there was one thing Dean loved about post-full moon play with Eliot, it was the sensitivity. Eliot rarely got so lost in sensation that he overlooked anything. Feeling him clench around Dean's cock pulled the hunter to his own edge, but it was hearing that fucked out voice rasp, "N-Nate," seeing the door open and the man in question  _watching them_ that threw Dean into the most intense orgasm of his life.

Behind Nate, Parker waved cheerfully. "Hi, Sparky!" She didn't seem to know how to address Dean, so she didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Like I said: cliffhanger.


	4. Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results of the awkward walking-in-on moment, a few disastrous first attempts to fix things, one meddlesome Coyote, and Alec being subtly amused by pissed!Eliot.
> 
> Leverage fans may recognize the episode I'm borrowing from at the end. Vague spoilers if you haven't already seen the episode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long with this chapter. I had to fight with Sam's best intentions. And then Coyote. And then Alec thought pissed!Eliot was a good thing. Dammit, Hardison!
> 
> Vague spoilers for Leverage season three, episode five, The Double Blind Job.
> 
> Mention of violence, lots of swearing.

**Chapter Four: Interrupted**

When blood stopped pooling in the wrong places, Dean wasn't sure if he was embarrassed, irritated, or limp with post-coital bliss. Thankfully for his indecision, he didn't have to break the silence—Nate broke it for him.

"This, ah, this—this is awkward." His hands moved abortively in two directions, as if he wanted to run a hand through his hair and rub his face at the same time but couldn't decide which.

"Sparky" snorted into the covers; that had to be the understatement of the century.

Lips twitching, Dean rested his face against his lover's back and bound arms, broke down and laughed.

Parker frowned as she glanced between them all. "What? Why is this awkward? It's just sex."

"You said they weren't having sex, Parker. It's part of why I came up here." His eyes rose to a point high on the far wall; he wasn't fooling anyone with his attempt not to look.

The blonde frowned at her leader some more. "I never said they weren't naked and  _planning_ to have sex, Nate."

"And I  _didn't want to walk in on it,_ Parker," Nate told her with asperity. A small corner of his mind thought maybe that wasn't the truth, but he wasn't ready to admit to even having thoughts like that and blinked it away.

She just snorted. Apparently there was something funny about Nate's words or the situation.  _Or even a random thought she had,_ mused Eliot, watching his teammates like the predator he was, regardless of the fact that he was still cuffed and collared, no matter that Dean was still plastered to him and shaking them both with laughter. Besides, he could smell the lust and reluctance twined lightly around Nate's nervousness, and  _that..._ that was appealing.

Dean could feel the tension gathering in his lover—it was the fight-or-fuck kind of tension, the kind that needed a release one way or another. But Dean was an expert on that kind of tension and, really, he'd come to know a few good tricks for diffusing it. So he raised his head and said glibly, "Don't tell me you want to start round two already..."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the mastermind sighed. "I don't want to know; I don't want to hear any more; we have a job to do and you two just want to fuck like rabbits."

Eliot growled, deep enough to vibrate in bone. "Compare me to prey again," he dared the psychic, teeth bared in a parody of a smile.

"I'm not going to indulge you like that," came the swift rebuttal. Nate was still better with children than adults—and it showed. "I'll be downstairs when you're done...enjoying yourselves." He swept out the door and down the stairs before another word was spoken.

Still standing by the doorway, Parker was frowning once again. And, because he knew she sometimes needed help understanding regular people things, the werewolf grumbled, "What, Parker?"

Brow furrowed, she said, "I think we should tie him up and leave him with you two for a week. Lock you all in a bedroom and have your food delivered or something, see if that would help."

Dean's instinctive thought was,  _Eliot wouldn't eat takeout or delivery for that long._ Then his brain kicked in again. It was a tempting thought and weighed heavily on the Winchester, but the deciding factor was that the chance of backfire was too high. Alienating Ford would be disastrous for both personal and professional lives.

From Eliot came a thoughtful pause, then the words, "Nah, that'd be almost guaranteed to backfire, Parker. Nate thinks too much; gotta start with small actions and scale 'em up. Don't wanna scare 'im off. He's skittish as a colt sometimes."

That made sense. "Especially about relationships," Parker agreed. "Okay. I won't tie him up and leave him like a present."

There was another pause. "Not yet, at any rate," was Dean's murmured response.

Eliot's head tilted slightly, eyes turning toward his lover. After a moment, he said, "Yeah, maybe later."

Parker's grin as she left the room was childishly gleeful. It was also more contagious than the common cold; Dean grinned as well, face alight with cheer and mischief. When she was down the stairs and away from temptation's range, the hunter spoke to his wolf. "Now...why did you tense, El? Kind of caused me problems." He sounded grumpy, but he couldn't hide his smile.

"Smelled a little lust from Nate," the retrieval specialist admitted, voice low and husky.

Eyes darker than they had been a moment before, Dean let the new knowledge sink in. "Damn," he murmured, admiration and imagination clear in the quiet curse. Reluctantly, he separated from his lover, then grabbed the toy that had been laying in plain view of the door. He probably shouldn't have enjoyed the snarl and breathless obscenities that filled the air when the toy slid home, but he did. Then he patted the end of the toy just to watch Eliot writhe—against the cuffs, against the bed, around the toy and against Dean's hand—and spoke in a firm growl. "That plug stays in until I pull it out."

The response was a growl that had a faint whining edge. "Fine," came the terse acceptance.

Smiling, Dean tapped the base of the plug again. He really liked the swearing that indicated how much he was getting to the other man. "By all means, keep snarling. I might just dig out the cock ring."

Amber wolf eyes glared back with feral promise. "Do it," dared the werewolf. "But if you do, I won't be responsible for my actions—"

"Promises, promises," Dean teased.

"—or who I do it in front of," Eliot finished ominously.

"Uh..."

"That's what I thought." His muscles tensed again. "Now, are you gonna get the cuffs off me, or do I need to break 'em?"

As tempting as it was to watch the glorious flex of muscle bend and break things, Dean was used to these cuffs and didn't want to have to buy another set. "Alright, alright. Let me find the keys..."

* * *

Sam watched the strange behavior with a slight frown. Ford was avoiding looking at either of the other men who'd slept at Eliot's house last night—and every time he saw Parker, it seemed he couldn't help but glare at her. The younger Winchester couldn't read Spencer; werewolf or not, the man rarely showed more than three sides: flirty, professional, and pissed off. Dean, on the other hand, seemed torn between amusement and annoyance...with a little wistful something thrown in, as well.

Disturbed by the unease between people who'd liked each other yesterday, Sam took his brother aside. "What the hell happened, Dean? You didn't get drunk and turn into a pushy fuckin' flirt again, did you?"

Dean glowered back. "Oh, yes, that's it exactly, Sam! I have no fucking morals left and I screw myself over every chance I get!"

Throwing his hands up, Sam backpedaled. "Okay, wait, I didn't mean it like—"

"You never mean it  _like that,_ Sammy," came Dean's retort. "You just don't have a fucking filter between your brain and your mouth when you're even the slightest bit irritated." He slammed his drink down on the table and stood. Sam wasn't quick enough to catch him before Dean was out the door.

Warily, Hardison watched the brewing storm that was Eliot stalk over to the long-haired Winchester. This boded poorly for the immediate future. Some days, he really wanted to live in his video games. It was looking like this would be one of them, so he pulled his laptop closer and put his headphones on.

"Did you have to piss him off?" growled the werewolf.

"I—"

"Pissed him off," Eliot growled again. His glare dared the younger Winchester to deny it.

"Okay," Sam conceded, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I did, alright? I didn't mean to."

"You never mean to," grumbled the werewolf, glaring.

Sam shivered. He didn't think there was anyone in existence who wouldn't be unnerved by that look—as long as they had any sense, at least. Last time Crowley had shown up, Eliot had glared at the demon to no noticeable effect. Maybe demons were immune to that patented Eliot Glare™? Though angels were apparently another matter; Cas still flinched sometimes when Eliot let the wolf play a little. "I—okay, yeah, that's fair, but..." Shoving a hand through his hair, Sam let frustration get the better of him and glared back. "Look, can we just focus on fixing whatever the hell you guys fucked up and worry about me later?"

Cold, cold eyes with a predator's patience stared for a long moment. When Spencer tilted his head and spoke, Sam could almost feel the weight of the world settle on his shoulders.

"Might not wanna make assumptions,  _Sammy,"_ the werewolf said softly. "Parker misled Nate; Nate walked in on us. Man's in denial over more 'n even Sophie thinks he is." Those watchful eyes stayed locked on the tall brunet. "Shouldn't hafta ask to know there's gonna be trouble," were the quietly drawled words of warning.

Stunned, Sam watched in a daze as the werewolf stalked past the hacker and out the door—where he was promptly tackled by Parker.  _Or maybe I should say she_ _ **attempted**_ _to tackle him,_ conceded the younger Winchester.  _It didn't look very effective. Guess he doesn't feel like playing along today._

To be fair, though, the thief had also attempted the same kind of tackle on Dean, who'd dodged aside and gone around her. It was becoming patently obvious to Sam that this situation was going to go from relatively simple to as complicated as—as  _Crowley,_ for all that any Winchester would hate the comparison. The brunet sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he put his mind to work. How the hell was he supposed to help them fix  _this?_

* * *

When the seven of them left their so-called meeting of minds, Eliot's temper resulted in a motorcycle being added to the list of vehicles. Parker had pounced on him in a hug and whispered that she'd be furry comfort if Nate needed it while he was away. Dean was whiling away the drive by playing music and indulging his temper by annoying his younger brother.

Sophie, ever the peacemaker, had said, "You had a fight, didn't you?" to Nate in an attempt to break the ice on a sensitive subject. In short order—in the time it took Nate to tell her to stay out of it and upend the current flask over his mouth—she'd discovered that this clash could cause serious problems. Given their illustrious leader's reaction, however, she was fast concluding that the other males were her best approach.

Enrapt in his headphones, Hardison carefully kept his head down; he'd seen how everyone was all tense and knew calming them was not his strong point. He'd leave that work to the specialists: Sophie and Eliot. As long as Sophie could get Eliot to come around, everything would be fine. Eliot could charm a mama bear into giving him her cubs; grumpy Nate and pissy Dean wouldn't stand a chance, and  _that_ , Alec admitted, was something he wanted to see when it happened. He diligently stared at his computer screen when Parker stripped and changed into a coyote; she said she was doing it because she wanted a nap, but really, Nate looked horrible. If Alec could turn into something furry and lovable, he'd be jumping right in, too. Unfortunately, the only spell his Nana had taught him about shape-changing was the frog spell, and he suspected there was a lot of difference between frog spells and what Eliot and/or Parker did.

Still, Alec thought they were all at least a bit more at ease, knowing that they'd left evidence of the crime that had resulted in the haunting with one Patrick Bonanno. No one deserved that kind of brick burial. It had left a bitter taste, because they couldn't blame her for haunting the town that had neither saved nor avenged her.

* * *

Damien Moreau was not a nice man—and he liked it that way. It kept him safe and wealthy, able to do pretty much anything he wanted. Listening to the leader of his guards griping at him, however, Damien felt his mood souring. Chapman was a useful tool, but really, all this...uproar...lately would have been so much less of a distraction from his work had Eliot still been in his employ. At the least, Eliot would have put Chapman in his place and entertained Damien, resulting in a more cheerful mood. Eliot had always been good for both his business and personal lives.

"You think so highly of him?"

His body was too well trained to jump at the nearness of the voice when he wasn't aware of a stranger being close to him. Instead, he turned with a chilling smile. "Think highly of who?" he countered, wondering if perhaps psychics were real after all.

There were two men standing by Chapman, who appeared immobilized with shock. Damien was fast coming to the conclusion that he would have to fire the man.

The strangers, both Native American in appearance, exchanged a glance.

"Eliot Spencer, of course," grinned the smaller man. "Isn't he fun?"

One elegant brow rose.  _Fun_  was not the adjective Damien would have chosen.  _Efficient_  was a better description. Perhaps also  _brutally direct_ or  _charmingly rough._  But  _fun_ was not how Damien Moreau viewed the man himself.

"See," growled the taller stranger. "I told you he was more wolf than coyote; even the human can tell."

The phrasing made Moreau wary. If he was human, that implied they were not. They were talking about animals, which made him think of some sort of shapeshifter, but those weren't  _real,_ were they?

"Smart, but perhaps too smart," grinned the smaller man. "Sometimes we're like that."

The taller one grunted. "Let him flounder about like a puppy," he said—and vanished.

Damien was too busy wondering how and where the tall stranger had gone to notice the smaller one bounding up next to him. Then there was a face much too close to his own and someone's breath that smelled like meat, and the last thing he heard was the smaller stranger's voice saying, "This will be fun, but your friend here, he's not coyote material and Wolf doesn't like him, so things may get...strange...for a while..."

* * *

An irritated werewolf was no one's idea of fun and games, except maybe Dean's. Since Dean was moping about something else and annoying his younger brother as only Dean could, however, Nate settled for what he could take as the latest attempt at choosing the next case ended.

It was Alec who suggested coffee, Eliot who refused to let the hacker go alone. Everyone else seemed either content with instant coffee or distracted by something else. There wasn't supposed to be a woman on the run who literally ran into them, interrupting their coffee-induced outing.

"You okay?" Hardison asked as he helped the woman regain her feet.

"FBI, sir!" called one of the men chasing her, holding up a badge. "That young lady's in our custody."

Alec smiled, aware that he was about to sic a werewolf on a pair of foolish thugs who were probably human. "Naw, see, you made two mistakes, brah," the mage informed the first man. "First, you flashed that fake-ass FBI badge at me." He scoffed with just the right amount of disdain. "Second, you spilled...his coffee." With a helpful finger pointing at Eliot, Hardison could see the coffee stain and knew these men would pay.

Irritated to no end because of the tension revolving around Nate and because he'd just had a fresh cup of coffee spilled on him as he walked out the cafe door, Eliot threw the cup over his shoulder and started forward with gusto. Hardison was kind enough to shield the woman from what he could. It was soon over, more of a quick rough-and-tumble bit of playtime for the werewolf than anything else.

Well. It was over quickly, at least. And violent in a way that only Eliot could be without guns or werewolf form. In his defense, they _had_ spilled his coffee...all over him...and intended to do worse to the young lady, who had done the civilian thing and ran in a blind panic.  _Fuckin' civilians; their own worst enemies._  And if Eliot's eyes flashed with wild wolf amber for a moment after the fight, the men were too beat up to notice and the woman was hiding behind Hardison. Alec smirked a bit, asking the woman to stand by Eliot for a moment. She did, but kept shifting her weight in fear; Eliot was doing that thing with his eyes that scared people again.

In a quick, carefully hidden spell, Alec copied the contents of the FBI impersonator goons' pockets, wallets and all. He forgot that most people wouldn't be smiling after looking at men who'd called themselves FBI, especially if they'd just been targeted in a threatening manner. The girl's panicked demeanor calmed him, but Alec knew nothing would calm Eliot now until they were safely ensconced with the rest of the pack once again.

How they'd become "the pack" was something Alec was going to think on later, because out of seven people, there was only one werewolf and Parker hadn't been able to become a canine until that run-in with Coyote.


	5. Easy as Pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side story at the end, because I wrote it while struggling with how to end this (very frustrating) chapter and I feel the readers deserve what recompense I can give for the wait.
> 
> Disclaimer: As I've stated before, I own neither Leverage nor SPN, nor anything else referenced here. *cough, cough* Star Wars *cough* ....  
>  
> 
> Warnings for profanity, insinuations, implied sex, flashbacks, minor spoilers for The Double Blind Job, a bit of an emotional roller coaster....  
> The side fic has warnings for violence, bloodshed, minor character death (it had to be in there somewhere), and...I drew a bit from Patricia Briggs' Mercy Thompson 'verse, as applies to Native American figures such as Wolf, same as I did in previous chapters with Coyote.

Between the new client, Ashley Moore, and Alec's obliviousness to the way he was hurting Parker's feelings, Eliot was ready to start taking chunks out of one of his few male friends. If it came to that, he wouldn't bother with weaponry; he'd just shift.

To a werewolf, anything fleshy was potential food. To a pissed off werewolf, anything and anyone that sparked temper was a potential target.

For the duration of the job, Eliot was heard to walk around muttering about humans. Sam, seeing the look of hurt on his brother's face, had asked if this was aimed at anyone in specific, which prompted the werewolf to look at Dean.

“I'm not sure hunters are entirely human,” was the thoughtful reply. “Hunters spend so much time huntin' monsters, they're bound to absorb traits from them, right? Knowledge is a weapon, yeah, but.... When you're huntin' monsters, instinct is sometimes the only thing keepin' ya alive.”

That was impossible to deny. It also led Sam to wondering which member of the werewolf's team was riling his temper, which in turn led to closer observation and Eliot becoming slightly more irritable. The younger Winchester's eventual, “Aha!” nearly resulted in uncomfortably placed bite marks—replete with fangs. This, in turn, resulted in Parker attempting her own fanged bite, because Sam was upsetting Sparky-the-Werewolf who was part of her pack and had the most patience for teaching her things she didn't know...and because Parker was feeling no small bit cranky herself.

Dean, still moping, let his brother lead him aside for a hushed conversation.

“If we can figure out how to get Hardison to see what he's doing to Parker, Eliot should calm down,” Sam said with quiet excitement.

They set to planning and were up long into the night—so long that Eliot started growling at the older Winchester to get his ass in bed already. As Dean stalked the werewolf into their shared room, it brought back memories of the first time they'd met.

_Dean was sitting in a little diner, feeling smugly sympathetic that Sam would get leftovers instead of the deliciousness of a fresh, hot meal. His own had been exquisite, a delight to his taste buds and the kind of mouth-watering oral experience that had nothing to do with sex but was right up there with orgasms in his book._

_Okay. Maybe that was overly dramatic. The food was delicious and Dean had overstuffed himself on a burger that had made him nearly drown in drool. He'd compounded his stomach ache by ordering not one but two slices of pie and eating them both. One had been meant for Sam, or maybe an after-hunt snack, but that first piece of the heaven that was a slice of pie had done in his willpower. The second piece had gone the way of the first and was still weighing heavily on his mind, not to mention his stomach._

_As the waitress passed, Dean turned on the charm and asked her to give his compliments to the chef. She smiled back, obviously flattered, and he thought that meant she'd made the pie. When movement caught his eye, he turned to look, catching an eyeful of long hair, a damn nice ass clad in denim, and shoulders strong enough to hold the weight of the world._

“ _If you want to compliment the chef,” the waitress said, bringing his attention back to her, “you'd better catch him before he gets out of sight.” Laughter underscored her words._

“ _Wait, what?” Dean felt blindsided and he wasn't sure why. He'd just been ogling the hottest guy he'd ever seen—and the man could cook, too? “That guy—the man going out the door—he's the one who made the pie?”_

“ _Makes the best food I've ever tasted,” the waitress confirmed, smile somewhere between sultry and appreciative._

_Dean hurriedly snagged enough cash from his wallet to cover his bill and a nice tip. He was in such a rush to follow the handsome chef that he practically shoved the money in the waitress' hands. “Here. That should cover it. I'll be back tomorrow.”_

_Big blue eyes blinked as the waitress watched the sexy man grab his leather jacket and rush out the door after the diner's afternoon chef. Part of her thought she ought to be miffed, being blown off so easily; the other part of her was getting mental images of the dashing new customer and the charming chef in flagrante delicto._

_He hit the door with his elbow hard enough to bruise, stumbled through to the outside world, and glanced around with what he hoped came across as merely curiosity instead of panic or desperation. If anyone saw him, he probably wasn't that lucky._

_The chef was shutting the door of a truck when Dean laid eyes on him. He must have pulled out a leather jacket—Dean really liked his taste in jackets—and now the long-haired brunet locked the truck and tucked the keys in a pocket before turning to walk away._

_In a depressing epiphany, the older Winchester brother realized that he had absolutely no idea how to approach the man outside the diner. He probably wouldn't appreciate work intruding on his free time, right? Wasn't that a normal human thing, to separate work and all the rest of their lives?_

_How the hell had Sam managed to act like a normal human for so long? Now, in addition to being envious of his brother's bravery in just going for what he wanted, Dean had to admire his comprehension of all things 'normal.' Sam would never let him hear the end of it, which was why his younger brother would never know._

_Still at a loss as to how he should approach the ever-so-attractive chef, the hunter did what he'd been trained to do: he stalked his target._

Dean shook the memory off and climbed into bed with his werewolf lover. After what seemed an eternity of being unable to sleep, Eliot sighed and said, “Since you're thinking so loudly, you can at least tell me what's on your mind.”

“Just...remembering how we met,” came the admittance. The hunter's voice was layered with both humor and wistfulness, not to mention the lust that inevitably kicked in when the werewolf was involved.

“Ah.” Eliot remembered, too.

_He stepped out of the diner into fresh air, retrieved his jacket from his truck before deciding to walk to the bar. On the wind came the scent of a hunter—a Winchester, specifically—and the sound of the diner door banging open and falling shut again._

_Being in his line of work caused a lot of paranoia. Being a werewolf who stood a high chance of meeting hunters caused still more paranoia. Neither of which meant he was right to be paranoid that a Winchester might be hunting him._

_Senses intent on his surroundings, the chef started walking. There was one sure-fire way to test whether he was being hunted or not. If the Winchester followed him, he was being hunted and he'd have to find out what had given him away._

_Eliot strolled away calmly, senses still heightened. He heard the sounds of another leather jacket as the hunter tucked hands into pockets, the soft sound of shoes on sidewalk and asphalt as the human followed at a reasonable distance._

_If he were human, Eliot would still have known he was followed; his profession demanded quick wits and sharp instincts. But if he were human, he'd never have been followed by a hunter._

_Or so he thought._

_Eyes flicking about in search of a quick yet subtle escape, the former black ops soldier ducked into the nearest alley like he was just taking a routine shortcut. Once out of view of his tail, werewolf speed, strength and agility let him bound between the walls and drop over the edge of a rooftop before the Winchester came around the corner. There was muffled cursing below him, a fruitless search for lowered escape ladders, and the sound of boots impacting a wall, followed by some hopping about and more swearing in clearer tones._

_Whatever else he might think of this hunter, the human had a mouth on him._

_Eliot Spencer shook off his thoughts easier than he'd shaken the hunter from his trail, then made his way to the bar._

Sharing his own remembrances of their first meeting, the werewolf nearly choked on his laughter when the green-eyed Winchester ogled him with blatant lechery and smoothly said, “Bypass someone with your looks and skill in the kitchen? Not even if I knew you were a werewolf.” Judicious honesty made him add, “Though I might have killed you afterward. Would've made me sad.” He pouted slightly at the thought.

When he could breathe again, Eliot swatted his lover's arm lightly and stated that he'd better not fall for another pretty face with skill in the kitchen again. Dean assured the werewolf that he was the only pretty face whose culinary skills he would fall for. It had been one hell of a chase, despite how soon in the relationship they'd landed in bed.

“I still can't believe you made finding my dad look _easy_ ,” groaned the Winchester.

A low growl rumbled Eliot's chest. “I couldn't believe you didn't know I was something most hunters would have gladly killed.”

“You don't understand: _trying to find you made trying to find my dad look_ _ **easy.”**_

The retrieval specialist blinked. “I must be missing some context. Or you are. You do know that I met your dad twice before I met you, right?”

“What?”

“Well, he didn't know I was _me,_ specifically, but he knew I was a werewolf; he even recognized my fur pattern the second time.”

Dean groaned in despair. “Please, tell me you didn't hook up with him in any way.”

“Jealous?” teased the werewolf. “You're the only Winchester I've shared a room with in human skin. Besides, your brother didn't interest the wolf in me and your dad—obsession has a very distinctive smell.” Blue-gray eyes shone with lust and mischief as he gazed at his lover. “Never ended up in bed with anyone quite so often, either. Not really good at the monogamy thing.”

“And now?”

Lips quirked in a crooked little smile, eyes crinkled happily at the corners, Eliot said, “Wolf's only interested in two people. You—and Nate. And Nate ain't got the history with me; you do.”

Part of Dean—the part that wanted Ford to join them—thought he should be ashamed for feeling smug about that shared history. The other part was too caught up in memory to feel much of anything but nostalgia.

_Dean was slumped on a bar stool, too embarrassed to return to the motel. He didn't see the long-haired man in a leather jacket and jeans enter the bar; he was too busy trying to drink away the realization that he was horribly inept at all things 'normal' and, so far unable to forget, currently had his face pressed against the bar's counter. Cheek stuck to the scarred and singed wood, Dean shifted, pulling his drink closer and resting his forehead on cold glass._

“ _Fucking pathetic,” he mumbled into his clasped hands and the bottle between them._

“ _Bottle o' Jack, please,” drawled a voice like crystallized honey, sweet but rough around the edges. The man slid onto a stool nearby but not next to him, cash in hand even as the slight scuff of denim announced that he'd just slid his wallet back into a pocket._

_Turning to discover who this hot-as-could-be voice belonged to, Dean was surprised to see the chef from the diner. His mouth dropped open. Unable to find the words to start, he closed it again._

_This was either the best day of his life...or the worst. Which title won the day would depend on a complete stranger. A delightfully sexy stranger, but...well, Dean was paranoid. It was in his job description—and his dad had trained him well._

_All the same, however, Dean refused to be called a coward. Even if he was the one calling himself that. He turned to the hottest man he'd ever seen and said, “I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting to see you here, but since you are, I have to say it: you make the best pie I've ever had.”_

Eliot laughed, both at Dean's shared memory and at the fact that they had somehow stumbled across the various truths of that whole confusing mess. “Took me a bit to believe you'd said that; what kind of hunter tells his prey he loves their cooking?”

“The kind that doesn't realize he's talking to prey, obviously; shut up, asshole,” Dean snarked back, dealing a hefty thump to his lover's shoulder. “What kind of supernatural creature sleeps with a hunter who can and will kill them, anyway?”

Laughter lighting his face in a way that took Dean's breath away, Eliot retorted, “Me, obviously. And I think that's practically the definition of what incubi and succubi do.”

“Neither of which is what _you_ are,” came the hunter's scoffing response.

“Well, no,” agreed the werewolf. “Not then and especially not now. But danger's never scared me much and, sorry, after my run-ins with your dad, the difference between you two was...confusing. One almost grudgingly decides not to shoot me; the other compliments my pie.”

_Eliot Spencer traversed the scant few blocks between the diner and the bar this alias had been frequenting. As he thought back over the last few days, he came to the conclusion that either the Winchester he'd run into at the diner had been keeping a very low profile or hadn't been in town for long._

_John Winchester would have killed the werewolf as soon as possible, in private or at least with no witnesses who weren't immediately at risk. Or, rather, had it been any werewolf he hadn't already decided was no threat. Dean Winchester, eldest son and fellow hunter, had stalked him from a diner and lost his trail within five minutes. Was he inept at hunting? Was Eliot going to have to start looking over his shoulder for John's more lethal presence?_

_Pushing open the door to the bar, Eliot decided tonight would be a good night to unwind, get laid, and leave without a note while his partner was still asleep. The sight of Dean Winchester sitting at the bar gave him pause._

_With a fatalistic shrug that was barely noticeable, the retrieval specialist walked up to the bar. “Bottle o' Jack,” he told the bartender, laying a bill in plain sight. Best to get potential trouble dealt with as soon as possible._

_Interest lit the Winchester's features, green eyes dancing with enthusiasm and a highly contagious grin. “I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting to see you here, but since you are, I have to say it: you make the best pie I've ever had.”_

_Already half drawn in by the beguiling expression on the hunter's face, the werewolf was poleaxed. The hunter had followed him to praise his pie? How was he supposed to respond to that? Finally, he managed, “Not used to gettin' compliments outside o' work.”_

_Seriously, did this Winchester have no idea that he was a werewolf? Because that was the impression Eliot was getting._

Dean chuckled. “I couldn't figure out why you seemed so shocked at being complimented at the bar. Anyway, wasn't like we were in town huntin' werewolves, and people new in the area talk the most to hunters.” Green eyes looked up, face crinkled in a wry grin. “Wanna redo the first time we had sex?”

“We jumped into bed so fast I 'bout got whiplash,” grumbled the werewolf.

“Like you're complaining,” Dean countered playfully. “You _like_ how I am in the bedroom.”

If Sam were present, Eliot would have continued the banter, adding something about the table, chairs, walls, doorways and other furniture—fully intent on embarrassing the younger Winchester. Luckily for Sam, he was in a different room. When the retrieval specialist leaned forward with the wolf in his eyes, Dean counted himself lucky, too.

 

* * *

 

When Dean and Eliot joined everyone else in the morning, the motorcycle was conspicuous by its absence and the back seat of the Impala was loaded with groceries. It only took one look for all of the group to decide discretion was the better part of valor. Except Parker, who either didn't know or didn't care to ask the so-called normal questions.

“Ooh! What's that? What's in here? Is this for me?”

Even Sam was perplexed but amused by her enthusiasm. Eliot was the only one who knew it was her way of testing his reactions to see if he was in a better emotional state; Sophie, who could have figured it out, had segued from _look who's here_ to lecturing Nathan on his drinking again.

Loaded down with the bags, Eliot swept past his teammates and into the kitchen. Dean trailed him like a lost puppy, woeful and pathetic, hoping to be fed.

Sam shook his head over his brother's antics, but delved willingly into the geek spiral he and Hardison typically encountered. Off to one side, Nate shook his head at their behavior, tolerant smile on his face as he ignored yet another rant from Sophie. Sooner or later, she was going to get fed up with that.

The client, Ashley Moore, was suffering a case of nervousness in her guest room; the only one who could hear her was Eliot—and he wasn't inclined to deal with her or even bring up the subject to the others, since it would inevitably be Hardison who played the role of Nice and Caring Person and hurt Parker's feelings still more.

It wasn't fair of him to be so angry with Hardison over his actions, Eliot knew. Both hacker and thief were new to relationships—and the hacker's geek tendencies meant he occasionally overlooked the cruelty in his words and actions, mostly in regard to Eliot but also sometimes to Parker, who'd so far had the kindness to refrain from stabbing him with a fork. This didn't absolve Alec, though; he was the only one of the group who still had that edge of—of _normalcy_ , which everyone else in their group except Sam had given up on. Sam, of course, was nice to people because the supernatural side of things was freaky enough without strangers being assholes; Alec was just a naive hacker who didn't seem to understand that his obsession with their client was on its way to destroying Parker's confidence in her ability to be what he needed. Even now, every time she glanced in his direction, her eyes took on a wounded look and seemed to ask, _Is she what he needs? Am I too abnormal for him? I can't be normal. I can fake it sometimes, in some ways, and I thought he was fine with that. Was I wrong?_ Part of Eliot wanted nothing more than to punch his teammate and tell their client to go find someone else to help her. He wouldn't, but he wanted to. Which was why he'd taken on the task of distracting Parker.

Thieving hands slipped past his guard, stealing ingredients from under his nose. Eliot sighed. “Parker....” A crunching, chewing sound told him plainer than words that she'd stolen it for keeps and wasn't giving it back. He heaved another sigh—relatively small because he'd still rather she pester him than feel heart-sore over a certain idiot hacker.

Arms braced on the counter as he leaned into the kitchen, green eyes watched everything with a small but happy smile. These were his people. Half of them weren't human, but they were his. It was a feeling he was still getting used to, unsettling only because he wasn't used to having many people who could get under his skin. Parker stole another piece while Dean started the coffee, motivating Eliot to don his chef's role once more. It was as easy as pie, in a way—a familiar task, familiar smells, familiar people. By contrast, it was also as difficult as a newly encountered recipe, maintaining an emotional balance among so many people when he wanted to do what any overprotective brother would want to do for their sister. Two sides to the same coin that was this job—specifically, his part in it that involved his teammates.

With a softly huffed laugh, the werewolf applied himself to the food. _And Mama never thought anyone could tame me._ Well, she'd been mostly right; he'd tamed himself, to a degree, and the ones he'd really tamed himself for wanted him half feral anyway.

Parker swung her legs wildly from the counter, intent and curious as she leaned in close. Dean sipped coffee and offered silent companionship, grin open and honest because, for once, he was with people he didn't have to charm.

As the meal concluded, Eliot pulled out the remnants of dessert the night before. His fork sinking in, he saw Dean round the corner and green eyes light up. “Ooh!”

Looked like he'd have to share the pie.

 

* * *

 

**As a treat for waiting so long (I apologize; the ending of this chapter did not want to cooperate), you get the miniature side story that follows:**

**How Eliot Met John**

 

* * *

 

 

Eliot wasn't sure what had prompted him, but he'd been wearing his wolf form the entire time he'd wandered the town, searching for the werewolves who'd somehow absconded with one of his cousins. So far, he'd crossed a few faint scent trails but the pack appeared to be playing least in sight. As far as the military knew, he was on leave for a family emergency; his family had called him home because something had happened to a younger cousin that required his touch to resolve without death or dismemberment as the end result.

A breeze wafted over his nose, bringing with it an herbs-and-metal smell. He stiffened, ruff bristling slightly in caution. _Hunter._ Eliot had long known that the only good hunter was one who didn't know he was a werewolf and he'd have skirted this one, too, if he could, but he had a task to do and family to look out for—and there were some things more important than personal safety.

So he got the attention of the nearest wild wolf and then dove headlong into danger; sometimes it was all about knowing the right...people. He sent up thanks to whatever might be listening, glad he'd spent his high school summers living wild. Even as he prayed, however, his paws moved forward.

Hunter or not, Eliot refused to miss this chance at finding and rescuing his cousin. He was pack.

 

* * *

 

John kicked at the wolf-shaped werewolf lunging toward him, cursing the fact that his gun was out of ammo and his knives were stuck in various other wolf-shaped creatures. Another creature snagged a mouthful of his boot in fanged jaws and the hunter took a breath in preparation for the pain of a badly injured ankle, if not worse.

Instead of a broken ankle, he was knocked off balance when something—possibly a real wolf, this time—came leaping out of nowhere and clamped a killing bite on the spine of the thing that had grabbed his boot. John sprawled ungracefully, then scrambled to his feet. In a fight for one's life, speed was crucial.

Only, it appeared that this fight for his life was no longer John's to win; the wolf that had come in on his side had thrown its first kill into a cluster of enemies and gone headlong into another. Against all odds, it even appeared to be holding its own.

Then a howl rose up from the surrounding darkness and John wasn't the only one who turned. The wolf who'd fought to help him slid from the shadows to stand guard at his back, ignoring the outcry. Slowly, John observed a wild wolf pack form a half circle facing the things that had taken kindred forms. Every wolf in the half circle had ears laid back, fur bristling—about half had fangs bared and were snarling.

John had never seen anything like this before. Wild wolves were interfering in a werewolf hunt? No one would ever believe him.

The wolf guarding his back spun and caught a dangerously fast werewolf by the muzzle as it tried to snap jaws on parts of John's anatomy that the hunter was extremely grateful it hadn't managed to get. With a stench of sulfur, the werewolf let out a strangled and unfortunately feline scream of pain. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, John would never have guessed that a demon's escape route from a given body could be temporarily blocked with ease; the wolf bore down on the airways under its fangs and the demon was brought back to a body overwhelmed with the desire, the _need_ , to live.

“Demons possess werewolves?” he muttered to himself. “First I've heard of.” He slid forward with wary watchfulness, retrieved two knives from furry corpses, and eased back toward the wolf guarding his six.

Out of the dark came a voice John didn't recognize. “My kinsman says he will see you safe to where you need to go; the wild wolves intend to show the werewolves that this is _their_ land.”

John looked for the source of the voice and found a Native American man dressed in softened hides and wolf furs. “Kinsman?”

The stranger nodded to the wolf just behind John. “He is kin to me.”

Bewildered but doing his best not to show it, the Winchester glanced between the wild wolves, the werewolves hunting him, and the werewolf at his back. “So the wild wolves have a problem with them,” he began, indicating the ones hunting him with a nod, “but not with him?” Here he jerked his head toward the werewolf at his back.

“My kinsman is not treating this as _his_ territory; they act like they own it. Our wild kin just want their hunting grounds and den safe. He is no threat to them or their young unless they come after him. Wild wolves are not stupid; they can read his intentions and even let him pup-sit when he wants to lay low as a wolf.”

This was just mind-boggling. “... What?”

Dark eyes drifting to his werewolf kin, the stranger added, “You may call him Hunts Solo.” At the look the werewolf threw his way, the man seemed smug and teasingly malicious. “Would you rather he call you With Teeth?”

Aforementioned teeth were immediately bared in his direction. With a disgusted huff, the werewolf body checked a humanoid were and broke its collarbone with a single, efficient snap of powerful jaws. Then, ears low to either side of his head, he snarled. He was echoed by a chorus from the wild wolf pack.

John resisted the urge to rub the stubble on his face in confusion, instead saying, “If it's all the same to you, I think I'd rather stay and make sure this lot won't be hunting humans again.”

The werewolf at John's back flicked his ears in a gesture somewhere between acceptance and dismissal; his focus was on the werewolves pacing the half of the circle around them that the wild wolves didn't yet hold. If he'd had more attention to spare, he would have growled about not getting the one he was protecting out of the danger zone. It wouldn't have mattered that the Winchester, as a human, would have been incapable of understanding the lupine utterances—he'd have growled, anyway, even as a human; it was the principle of the thing!

Then werewolves rushed in, leaping and snapping. Met by fangs and knives, body checked and kicked by worn combat boots, the furry tide seemed to ebb for a moment. Two wolf-shaped weres tag-teamed John's erstwhile comrade while the Winchester himself was bowled over by four and pinned with one on each limb. A third werewolf joined the fight against Hunts Solo—John figured that wasn't his real name, but didn't know what else to call him—and, despite the furrows his opponents left in his flesh, the wolf went down in silence.

He didn't stay down for long.

The Native American called to his kinsman in a tone perfectly pitched to get maximum impact from his words. “Your cousin—he's in fur and possessed. Are you going to let him get away with that lapse of control?”

With a roar of rage more leonine than lupine, Hunts Solo twisted and got three paws braced on solid ground once more. He wasted no time expressing his anger in sound; one werewolf died with shock just dawning in its eyes. Another lost an ear as it danced away, then a foreleg was broken with efficient yet furious strength as it scrambled further backward. The third werewolf that had taken on Hunts Solo suffered a broken neck as Hunts Solo used his own body weight and momentum to fling him halfway across the circle.

“You see him, don't you? Pinning the hunter?” Further words chosen specifically to rouse temper, spoken _just right_ for premium results.

Hunts Solo was already in motion, cat-quick. He slammed one were aside with a blood-covered shoulder, fangs tearing down its face as an afterthought. The second dodged sideways and away from the incoming werewolf but left itself open for John's knife as it unintentionally unpinned one arm—and the hunter took ruthless advantage. Werewolf number three lost an eye to slashing fangs and stumbled as it tried to flee; it was hamstrung in short order.

John tried to knife the fourth werewolf on him, thankful he had both legs and one hand free, but Hunts Solo lunged forward. The knife glanced off ribs and left a gash in his side, but Hunts Solo didn't seem to notice. His lunge brought him in range of his target—and he bruised the smaller werewolf's nose on his chest as he seized it by its ruff and _shook_.

It didn't take long before the hapless werewolf was dazed and confused, demon mist streaming from him. John watched closely, worried, but though the demon appeared to try possessing Hunts Solo, it wasn't having much luck. Black fled through his eyes, there and gone, chased away by furious wolf amber.

“Can't possess a werewolf that stubborn, can you? He is kin to me and well versed in self control.”

_He says 'kin to me' like it's important._ John would have continued that train of thought, but he was interrupted—by a man with dark eyes who dressed in hides and fur, who no longer seemed benign when his focus narrowed.

“It _is_ important. My kinsmen live their own lives, but I am just as feral as they are—”

_And just as furry, when he wants to be,_ thought Hunts Solo with solemn, candid humor. He dropped his cousin but stood with both forepaws on the younger werewolf to keep him from brash actions. It was tempting to start cleaning his shoulder wounds and the little gash between two of his toes, but this wasn't the time. Yet.

“— _and I don't much care for coercion without at least the option of fighting back!”_

John stared. He hadn't quite realized how dangerous this stranger could seem. It was a mistake he wouldn't make again.

Then the younger, pinned werewolf seemed to realize where he was—and who he was in trouble with. He whined.

Duly prompted, Hunts Solo leaned down and set his fangs over his cousin's muzzle, a low growl rumbling from his throat. Even the hunter could see the message: _Don't fight me, kid. I don't have to be serious to win._ John had to admit, if the rate of healing and fighting ability Hunts Solo had shown so far were typical of him, then the werewolf was a formidable ally—and a fearsome foe.

The Winchester grunted and rose, wincing at injuries he'd previously ignored. Hunts Solo had already half healed from the knife wound; his cousin was downcast, but only bruised and visibly shaken by his own actions. Werewolves fled from wild wolves as demon mist streamed into the night sky. Some fights couldn't be won, even with demonic abilities; this fight was clearly impossible, because the demons' attempts at fighting back kept backfiring on them, sending werewolves into trees instead of wolves, and John had never seen the like before.

A first aid kit landed at the hunter's feet; John looked up to meet the eyes of the only other human in the area. Dark eyes looked solemnly back.

“It will last you until you get to your own kit, at least.” Then the Native man turned his gaze back to the fight while the hunter tended his wounds.

Hunts Solo stretched, easing tense muscles even as his senses stayed on high alert. Together, they watched the fight to its finish, werewolves dead or running for their lives. The wild wolves howled a chorus of sorrow for their lost pack members before coming to the Native American and Hunts Solo for injuries that needed tending.

Wild Wolves: 1

Possessed Werewolves: 0

 

* * *

 

When John closed the door of the Impala and started the engine, he looked in his mirrors, not sure if he was hoping he would or wouldn't spot the werewolf who'd had his back all through the trek through woods and small town. He'd fought off an ambush and scared off guard dogs as they made their way to the car, but while John was grateful for the aid he hadn't known he needed—and the guard while he tended his wounds with the kit he'd stashed a few blocks back—the hunter wasn't at all certain that it was wise to leave _any_ werewolf alive. Not, of course, that he'd killed this werewolf's cousin or the Native American man who was likely some sort of werewolf himself, but...it was the principle of the thing.

While he was struggling with himself, a middle-aged couple came walking arm in arm, each laden with groceries. John felt his focus narrow as the humans spotted the werewolf and immediately began calling to the creature.

“Here, boy!” the woman coaxed, digging in one of her bags and pulling out a large strip of jerky.

Fear for the normal people surged through John like high tide, but the werewolf played the part of a big, friendly, active breed dog to perfection. His tail wagged; he let them pet him and play with him, although he was careful to stop at the first sign that he was getting too rough; he crunched the jerky and licked up the bits that dropped to the ground, snuffling about for more like he didn't know that any jerky left was still in the bags; and when the normal human couple left, he gazed woefully after them before casting about for other things to feign a canine fascination over.

John shook his head, somewhere between reluctantly impressed and unhappily resigned, then rolled down his window and whistled, saluting the werewolf solemnly before driving away.

With control that good and acting skills that honed, not to mention his fighting ability, John was willing to wait and see what this werewolf was like in the long term. If he ever was the only werewolf at a werewolf kill site, though, all bets were off.

 


End file.
